A Four Saturdays Detention
by SpezzaIncantesimi
Summary: Hermione is disillusioned with being a prefect and gives it up. She falls into an odd relationship with Draco Malfoy that forces her to examine her feelings and beliefs about herself and the world.
1. I Week, Saturday: People See What They...

**DISCLAIMER**:   
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

**THANKS** :   
First of all I want to thank my wanna-be-beta-readers. I had a lot of them, kind young ladies so willing to help me with my fic; unluckily they used to disappear in the twirl of their hectic lives leaving me, when I was lucky, just portions of betaed stuff, and a bunch of good intentions. A nightmare.  
I think I had to love this fic very much, seen I decided to go on the same with the translation and the betas hunting.  
Yes, translation! I am not English native speaker, this story was born in my own language and I think this might explain a lot of things.

Then, second in order of appearance, but first in my heart: the Betas!   
**Zsenya**, owner of Sugarquill together with Arabella.   
She betaed the first release of the first chapter and... rejected the story!   
Her kind advice to look for a site in my own language where I could try to upload the fic probably can give you an idea of the amount of work this chapter took to the betas to make it palatable for an English reader...  
**Quinn**, a very patient beta reader I met at FictionAlley.   
**Paleologus**, a SugarQuiller, who gave to the second realease of this chapter a brush up, pointing out what was too idiomatic and Italian. I really enjoyed his betaing, very professional, straight and kind!   
His fics are archived at Sugarquill.net, by the way. Take a look because they are worth your time!

I want to thank the sites, as well: **Fanficion.net**, that gives everyone of us the possibility to upload freely our stories, garbage and gems and have a sort of feedback. Thank you for the fun!.   
And **FictionAlley**, the only other site where this fic was uploaded! And seen you have to submit a fic in order to have it uploaded the thank comes from my heart. 

Finally a very special thank to the people who had the patience to write me a praise or a constructive criticism: the **REVIEWERS **!   


**PERSONAL NOTE: **  
I hope you will enjoy this chapter.  
I took it into my hands and wrote it again and again a lot of times. This is the final version, very different from the Italian original one. I state "final", not because there is no room for further improvements, but simply because I am fed up: **_31 Jan 2003_**_  
_If you find anything wrong, concerning grammar and spelling, write a review and make me know: English is just a language I happened to learn at High School, during only two years, and I am always ready to learn it better.  
In case, I will correct the mistake immediately.

**CHAPTER SUMMARY**:   
_A girl looks into a mirror and makes a whole inventory about what she sees. Someone else is looking._

* * *

****

**A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION **

**Chapter 1 - First Week - Saturday**

**People See What They Want To See   
(Mirror, Mirror)**

  


_Settembre, il mese del ripensamento sugli anni e sull'età  
Dopo l'estate porti il dono usato della perplessità  
Ti siedi e pensi e ricominci il gioco della tua identità   
Come scintille bruciano nel tuo fuoco le possibilità._

_September, month of second thought about your years and aging  
With Summer gone, you present us the abused gift: perplexity,   
You take a seat, and think, and start again the game of your identity  
Like sparks, in a bonfire, possibilities burning. _

  


e???sa ?a???? µ??s???? ete?pet?  
??d?? te ?a??? a????  
?de?? ??µ?  
?µ??? ?ates??a?e ?a? µetaf?e?a 

_She rejoiced at the possession of a myrtle twig  
and of the beautiful flower of the rosery   
the long thick hair  
cloaked her shoulder and her back  
(myrtle and rose were the symbols of Aphrodites, goddes of sex, reproduction and love)_

  
  
  
Everyone all over Hogwarts thought of her as the best friend of the infamous duo. They were the real dream team.

Hermione was "such a dear friend". 

She was a friend who would correct your homework, and who would study with you too.  
A friend who helps you study and learn odd, difficult charms.   
She was a friend who helps you to fix a botched potion.   
A friend who helps retrieving fucking toads (yes "she" doesn't use strong language, but "she" can think this way sometimes...).  
A friend who completely shares risks and adventures with her best friends.

She shares her friends' enemies, of course.  
Her friends' potions, homework, questions, tasks, tournaments, nasty pets as well.  
Her friends' everything, of course... friendship is such a beautiful thing.

But when they thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, well, where were all these friends? And everybody knows that cats eat rats. 

Months had passed, and they had continued leaving her alone. Pretending not to see or hear her.  
And as for herself, well, she had spent a bunch of time feeling terribly guilty for a stupid rat. And it was not a rat.  
It was a murderer.   
It was a traitor.  
It was a Death Eater. 

Well, to be fair to them, they weren't aware of that at the time. 

Suppose they had to write down a list of their priorities. The most important things in their hearts... Things like family, justice, or ... money. Oh, yes it was so warm and comforting to know you came in just below the word "rat". Put behind a fat, balding, always sleeping rat.

Not to mention the Yule Ball. How lucky she had been that there was Krum ... otherwise no one would have asked her out. Except, perhaps, as a last resort. Maybe Ron...  
Oh yes, it would have been a wonderful date.

She had noticed the way her friends... Friends... had acted with their elegant dates, once the problem of not being ridiculous at the ball, being alone, was resolved... and once they had found two girls, who were far removed from the word "troll" (that was what they were praying for... wasn't it?). Well... what did they do? Neglected them. Refused to dance with them.

Luckily for Padma and Parvati that the Beauxbatons boys were there.

If Ron had been her date, well, he probably would have spent all night mooning and drooling over Fleur Delacour. Oh, What a dream date that would have been.

If Harry had been her date, well change "drooling" with "looking sadly" at Cho with Cedric, and you've got the whole picture.

Fun, indeed!

How lucky she had been for Viktor Krum... 

The fifth year ball, instead, had been a real nightmare.

She had been a wallflower for half of the evening, just drinking pumpkin juice and watching. 

The other half she had spent chatting with girls. Her friends' girlfriends, of course (and, naturally, the boys were mooning over other people. Whose attraction, she suspected, didn't rely at all in being really interesting to them: they were just "taken").

A slight sting of pain crossed her, thinking of a certain quarrel...

She had disliked those girls. Hated no, she wasn't so harsh.   
They were so superior with her - "Oh Hermione, darling, if only I had known you didn't have a date... I could have fixed you up with someone you'd really like..." (Of course some odd clumsy nerd. Just like her).

They were repaying her for her grades, and raised hands? Maybe.

Or were they just bitches?   
Maybe.

Sure they weren't important to her friends. Not really at least.   
Yet, somehow they were more important than her. 

She had spent time chatting with other wallflowers, who were just like her. They all tried to find intelligent subjects for a witty conversation, pretending not to know they were supposed to have fun, and dance, not to stand useless in the Great Hall.   
Fake subjects while everyone was just thinking "Please, oh please, just a little dance! What if the most horrid guy could spot me as a girl and ask me for a dance? Or if he could just make me feel...pretty."

And now?

Now in the midst of their oh-so-male hormonal explosions, her friends were going on dates to Hogsmeade.   
Perhaps they were too young for a mature relationship?   
Or maybe they were too old not to think of girls.   
Who knows?

And she would obviously stay at the Library, all Saturday afternoon, studying.

And, obviously, she would look through their homework, and essays (don't forget the essay!). Yes, because "Herm, you're top notch with essays and you love burying yourself in all those books."

'Sure.' She thought bitterly. 'I am Miss Know-It-All... I am the bookworm. Red ink runs savagely through my veins. And a whole night alone in the library is my wildest dream...'.

Of course a five-person-date wouldn't have been that fun, she had to admit to herself. A whole afternoon watching other people making out was not exactly what she had wanted.

She chuckled a little.   
She was just envious. Madly jealous. Let's face it. This was the whole bloody truth.  
'Hermione, face it, you are a rotten, envious little bookworm hiding in the dark of the shelves like a little boggart.' she thought half smiling. 

She had always dreamed that in her six years at Hogwarts, she would fall in love with someone really wonderful.   
She couldn't help a smile. In her childish dreams it would have been such a puppy love for someone, well someone like... Percy. 

She giggled.   
Percy. 

She didn't fancy him, of course, but he was exactly the kind of boy to present to your mum. Good at school, Gryffindor, hard worker. Good family. Always following the rules. Prefect. Head Boy. A bit pompous, sometimes.   
Well, actually, very pompous, but it was excusable. Innocuous. He was the kind of guy who probably kisses with open eyes.   
'Oh my God, what a stupid and mean thing to think about someone' she said to herself. 

Right now she wasn't after puppy love that would grow to lifelong romance, carrying her through from graduation to marriage. She would have liked just a simple date, with a hint of emotion and adventure. To feel... pretty? Nice. Not as beautiful as Parvati Patil of course... but to feel a sort of thrill from a pair of stolen kisses.

Hermione blushed, and examined herself in the window. Her hair was so long now that it quite reached her waist. It was heavy, not so frizzy, but definitely curly.  
Well, they weren't elegant waves, and probably they would never be. But... who really cared?   
They were so soft. And the locks were so different, brown, mahogany, russet, cinnamon, and a sort of red. The light playing with the reflection could make it be so.   
It was the prettiest thing she had.  
Was it possible they were pretty only to her? That nobody ever had found them nice? No one would have liked to toy with them, to observe it all in the light of a candle, to caress it? Or to be caressed... to sense its softness?   
She blushed again. 

Her body had changed too. The robes she was used to wearing were very proper. 'They are uniforms, ok? Not ball-gowns... We are here to study, not to find a husband!' She smiled to herself. 'Relax, Hermione. You're bickering with yourself.' 

Some of the girls, she had noticed, were shortening their robes, stretching, tightening, clasping, and unclasping. Shyly revealing.  
Well, sometimes not so shyly.  
Really.  
Okay, okay. Well, her robes were the bookworm style robes. 

She detected a dark blue ink spot on the right sleeve. Dragon dung! Not again... Another quill accident! Well, perhaps she wasn't the well kept, charming kind of girl. But anyway, it wasn't her sleeve that a boy should look at.   
Anyway, it was obvious her body had grown.  
At least she, she could see it. 

Maybe it was because she was short? As the years went by she did not grow taller, and she had stayed more or less as she was, about five foot two.  
Out of the dream team she was the short one.   
Ok, shorter than Ron, you needn't to be Professor Trelawney to divine it... but shorter than Harry? It was almost a joke. 

She observed herself deeply in the mirror of the pane, still thinking...'I know what I see when I look at myself. I know it exactly. What about all the others? What the other people see?'

"People see what they want to see, Granger.".

She snapped her head around abruptly.

Just behind her, with a smirk and his hands in the pockets, Draco Malfoy.

He was much taller than she was, of course. During those bloody two years everyone stretched and grew in a breathtaking way.

She felt herself go red. Imagine if she had been talking out loud!

She looked at him upwards. "What exactly do you mean Malfoy?"

He narrowed his silvery eyes in his lazy manner, much like Crookshanks. Then he was sitting on the edge of her table.   
"You have been looking at yourself in the mirror for more than 10 minutes...."

"It is not a mirror."

"Ok, and it was more than 10 minutes," he drawled. "Anyway it wasn't too difficult to imagine what you could be mumbling in your head."

"And... what would that be?" she said in a belligerent way.

"You know it Granger."

"Of course I know what I was thinking about. But what were you thinking I was thinking about?"

"Your grammar is really good, Granger," he was teasing her. Then he looked at her straight into her eyes and whispered, "You were looking at your hair, which is better than years ago, I have to admit it, and you were daydreaming.... Surely about something terribly romantic and indulgent... daring." 

He lifted an eyebrow, mocking her, "You were thinking that you are not a troll, but, as far as you know, you are the only one who spotted yourself as a girl. And you were asking yourself what the hell people see when they look at you... The machine that spits out all A's, one after the other in an endless row, or..."

Hermione blushed. Again. She would have loved to hex him. Curse him to his tears, jinx him to see him bleeding.   
But it would have been useless.  
It was a stupid question, one that a stupid girl would ask. No way. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Hermione.

"I suppose it would be useless to deny it. My blushing probably gave it away."   
Perhaps if she could laugh about it, it would hurt less.

Draco smiled. "Yes, you blushed... and a lot too, at least, in my opinion."

He stood up and opened the window. Brisk September air rushed in. He was just looking at the landscape. 

She didn't know what to do. Leaving him there, alone, that, she would have liked a lot. But... where she could possibly go? Outside it was too cold. Perhaps she could go to the Gryffindor Common Room? No thank you. There she would have found all the unlucky, unwanted ones, the "B" division. Those staying because nobody had asked them out.   
At least here in the Library she had her homework, her books. 

She took back her parchment, trying to concentrate. 

"What I can't understand is the reason why you aren't in Hogsmeade," he continued, sincerely curious.

"Probably for the same reason as you," she replied. 'Too sharp, Hermione, no good, relax.'

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows, and, with an innocent statement, "You're being punished as well?"

For a moment Hermione widened her eyes in pure horror. Her, deserve a punishment? A detention? Breaking a rule? Breaking the eleventh commandment, the horrible mortal sin? Never! Then looking at his laughing eyes, she burst out laughing.

"I wish you could have seen your face," said the boy.   
They were both laughing now. Laughing a stupid, free laugh.

"Well I didn't go to Hogsmeade because I wouldn't know what to do alone. Here, I feel at ease. I can do my homework without hurrying, I can think. I can browse through the books. In some ways it's more entertaining than Hogsmeade."

"Weasley and Potter?"

"They're in Hogsmeade with their girlfriends," she spat abruptly.

She was surprised herself. Yes, she had said the truth, but it was just a part of the truth. The key word was "alone". Alone in the Library is clearly better than alone at Hogsmeade, but with someone else...

He was observing her through his lazy eyes. Studying her. But he was not answering her.   
He looked terribly at ease with his laziness.

"Crabbe and Goyle?" she counterattacked.

"Granger, if the whole thing is not written in a book, you hardly notice it, eh?" he was definitely mocking her.

"What?"

"Well Crabbe and Goyle aren't my best mates anymore, well, I should say it's been a year, more or less."

It was true, he had changed his group of friends: no more Crabbe and Goyle, just Declan and Glenn.   
Imperceptibly.  
At least to her.   
They were in Slytherin, of course. They were cold guys, always on their own, not mixing with other people, not for good or ill.  
Declan had been in an Arithmancy contest with her.  
Smart boy.

Hermione hadn't really noticed this. As far as she could remember, he had always called her "Mudblood" in the schools corridors. So he had not changed much.

Ah and he wasn't playing Quidditch anymore. But this had slipped her mind... she wasn't a fan of that sport.   
In reality, quite frankly she couldn't understand a damn thing of that sport.

"You don't play Quidditch anymore?" she asked him. 'What a stupid question,' she thought to herself.

"No, I don't," he said politely, "But I still have groupies.". 

He smiled, and Hermione, for what had to be at least the seventh time that evening, went red. Malfoy seemed to have that affect on a lot of girls. What a mess.  
Well it was true.  
A lot of girls liked Malfoy. His long blond hair, his broad shoulders, his muscles... Even girls in Hermione's own House.   
And well... he really needn't to go alone to Hogsmeade. 

Parvati had dated him for a while too, and she looked so excited... She kept speaking about his muscles, his chest, his hands, his, well, other particulars which perhaps it would have been better feigning to ignore...

She smiled and chuckled.

"Well, I leave you to your entertaining books." His smile was so lazy and slightly doubtful.

She gave him a slight wave, and he disappeared.

Abruptly she was so cold, a chill ran down her spine. She looked at the open window. 'Stupid mirror window. Stupid September dizziness.' 

She shut it.

* * *

It was the giggling that woke her up. Lavender was whispering with Parvati, both were sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed.

They looked at her in an odd way. " Did we wake you?" Lavender asked innocently.

"Oh no, how could you ever imagine such a thing?" Hermione's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh well," Lavender said, and they continued to whisper and giggle, eventually moving to Lavender's bed. They closed the curtains.

Irony was wasted on them. But why, why did the Sorting Hat have to put her in this House? It was supposed to be "her" House, her heart House. She was supposed to feel at home. 

But she was not able to fit with these girls.   
Well, she could fit in with them near a test, or during a particularly difficult essay. But, to be honest for once, this was not "fitting". This was not "friendship".

"Well it seems it's the cosy hour of commiseration," she sighed to herself. "Tomorrow I'll be better, and on Monday, back to classes, safe in heaven."

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. 

Giggles and whispers leaked through the closed curtains.

She wondered. What would it be like, trying to describe a kiss to a friend? Going through every little hint that led up to it. Living the moment slowly, savouring and remembering the different moments. Her moments, and someone else's too.

Telling everything to someone just for the pleasure of sharing a precious little thing, an unexpected present. Or being able to laugh and giggle of it, without malice, just out of a habit? 

It was her last thought before dreams.

  
  


_To be continued_

_Next Chapter_: **More than a Man Can Deserve in a Whole Lifetime  
(An Indecent Proposal)**

* * *

**ANSWERS TO THE REVIEWS  
Reviews before 31 January 2003 **  
Of course, when I found the first reviews I was very happy: the reviews are a fundamental part of the vanity sin, the action of uploading somehow involves.

Therefore I want to thank **hayley**, **Trunks**_**Goku**_**DBZ**, **Nelly**, **Ashliegh**, **Mesia**, **musichica**, **AngelicGirl**, **Demiguise**, **Morbane**, **lissa**, **BlackKitty**, **anon**, **Crystal**, **Ara Willow, kagemusha**, and mab who liked the first chapter.

For **cammie**: I frankly couldn't understand whether you liked it or not. Anyway it is romance And romance has its rules (more or less predictable).

**  
Michelle** **Ravel**: I cheated the reviews counter with this review. I asked on a SugarQuill forum, The Pensieve, whether a pitiful soul could read this story and give me her earnest opinion. In reality I begged them with a dumb and long poetry with roses are red, violets are blue, I would really like to have a review, and so on..  
Therefore I really must thank Michelle (and Giliath as well: her review is about chapter 4) from the bottom of my heart, because they are the only two girls of that site, who actually fulfilled my requirement (wow!).  
Unluckily, when they reviewed this chapter, I had uploaded the first 4 chapters   
From their remarks it was clear they had read only the first one, and they didn't have the guts to read further Their advice was nice, but had nothing to do with the rest of the story.

I liked those reviews because they were honest in a subtle way.  
And I thank these girls again, because of their kindness (I appreciated it a lot, really, I am not joking. Also if the first time I read your review, Michelle, I would have liked to smack you at your head). 

**  
Textualsphinx**: This is another opinion I explicitly asked for, because I read this author on a forum (www.sugarquill.net) and I appreciated her intelligence and taste (the personal character and sense of humour is a completely different matter... I'm joking. of course!!!), and because the first fiction I really liked on Fanfiction.net was "Why Slytherins are sexier"; but I discovered this detail only later at that time I never paid attention to the author's name.   
Thank you, even if you didn't like it. It was a pleasure to hear your opinions.

**  
grrr:** no, in my own language this fic was never betaed. Probably content editing would have been useful, but about grammar and spelling I am way more indepent in my language than with English, of course. Especially with spelling: Italian is like Spanish, what you see is what you get, it is difficult to do spelling mistakes into Italian after elementary school.  
I hope the mistakes you refer to were fixed: honestly I did my best in the beta readers hunting.  
Thank you a lot fot the praise!**  
**

**JK : **Another reviewer whose opinion I solicited. To be utterly sincere I sent her the fiction URL, because I was looking for another place where I could upload my fics - she has a site of her own.  
The fic was rejected (wrong pairing, unluckily Ashavah shares Sugarquill views), but she kindly read the whole story pointing out what she liked and what she didn't like.  
JK, I have only one think to complain about: if you find technical errors, make me know what they are because I could never spot them on my own, neither if I proofread everything carefully and aloud: this is not my language!**  
**

**Jentien : **thank you a lot for the multiple reviews!  


**ViviennaElegance : **She writes at FictionAlley. I asked her to explain me why this fic didn't work, in her opinion.  
I know it is not a masterpiec and I am aware I am not a professional writer, more: I realise that my command of English language is rough, especially if compared to textualsphinx, or to cassandraclaire, just to make an example using two well known HP fandom writers, but there are many others as well... anyway, despite my personal flaws, somehow, I had the impression this story could deserve more success. Not fandom popularity as other fanfics now classic piece of writing... but I had the feeling this fic could have a spot of its own with a certain dignity...  
Well that's what I thought, but it is not reality. Many adult people didn't like it... or neither read it: I tried to advertise it on a forum, but what resulted was just complete indifference (to be utterly sincere, I was banned as well, for my insistence about feedback on my story).   
Maybe I am not believable as poster (the language issue?).   
Maybe uploading on fanfiction.net doesn't make me a true "fellow writer" - somehow this site is like the fandom dumping.  
Maybe I am horrible at socializing...  
I don't know, but I never got that feedback from the people I would have liked to... there must be a reason...   
  
I must ruminate on what Vivenna said... her advice is good: she gives me tips about how to make this story a classical Draco-and-Hermione-falling-in-love-together.  
Unluckily I won't touch the structure of the story nor the too mild presence of Draco at the end of the chapter. Probably it's wrong, and it is not polite to look for advice and then reject it, but I wanted a Hermione centered story, more than a Draco-and-Hermione-in-love story.  
I wanted Hermione to think, discuss, banter, accept and refuse ideas, discover slowly what she thinks, and somehow change a bit.  
And I wanted Draco to be not the one-note-naziskin-style guy of canon (yes I perpetrate the OC sin with him, I am aware), but as most realist and different from Hermione as possible, having a dignity of his own and his personal sensitivity and sense.  
A no-love and no-sex story all about Hermione and Draco.   
Hermione has the thoughts, Draco the speech.

What can I say? The experiment went wrong...  



	2. II Week, Saturday: More Than A Man Can ...

DISCLAIMER:  
  
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended THANKS:  
  
I want to thank the beta readers, of course: as I wrote for the first chapter, this story was firstly thought, drafted, written and polished into my own language, but I didn't know where to upload it...  
  
In my language there was nothing like the English speaking community for Harry Potter fandom.  
  
Therefore I started to translate the chapters into English: I had to look up my old grammar books, change sentences in order to make it clear what I meant, cut something, add something else.  
  
I had to browse dictionaries on line in order to find the very right word, looking for examples and so on.  
  
Then I had the suggestions from the beta readers: this co-operation involved more questions, cuts and changes.  
  
A task!  
  
At the end there were a lot of differences between the first Italian version and the last English one.  
  
It is easy to understand that a beta in my case, wasn't simply a pleasant help I could share my points of view with, but a needed resource, and I discovered on my own how difficult it is to retrieve one. A reliable one, I mean.  
  
For this reason my best thanks are for Quinn, my patient first beta reader, without whose help I would have never trespassed the first chapter.  
  
Secondly, of course, I want to thank Paleologus, who brushed up this chapter too.  
  
An amazing betaer, by the way, I learned a lot through his remarks.  
  
His writings are hosted at www.sugarquill.net,in their library, under the author name paleologus, and they are worth your reading! As you can imagine, after all the work this fic took, with writing, translating, writing again and so on, a feedback is really deeply appreciated!  
  
For this reason, a thank to all the people who reviewed this story! PERSONAL NOTES:  
  
I hope you enjoy this second chapter.  
  
Draco is not exactly the one-note guy of the canon, and I know that someone will state "OOC!" (= Out Of Character).  
  
Well, I tried, if not to avoid, at least to lessen this sin, putting the story in the 6th year, avoiding the overused HeadGirl-HeadBoy-trap (I've met: several fanfictions using this device). Anyway, if you read the story, you will understand why they could not be in their last year.  
  
However, the boy had a whole interesting 5th year to grow up a bit, and many things can happen in a year when you are a teen.  
  
More... I thought that, having studied during 5 years under Snape's control (he is the Head of his House, by the way), he ought to take some poisonous blending from the Potion Master: therefore I gifted him more dialectic skill.  
  
Canon Draco has one very upsetting ability: he is able to hurt the soft spot of the people using his tongue.  
  
This strange gift was enhanced in this story: my personal Draco is a good observer - I've always thought that ambition without the ability to move within the people leads to failure (canon Snape is, unluckily, a good example of this tragedy).  
  
About Draco's sexyness, well, in canon is a lie, in fanon is now a cliché.  
  
If I must say the truth I was very uncertain about Draco's sexyness after I saw the movies (my story was ended into my language ages before the first movie). Probably because I'm way much older than Mr Felton.  
  
It is my personal squirk, of course, but I had always thought of him as of a very young ... hmm I don't know the name, and I'll look it up on internet as soon as possible, anyway the blond-haired viking, friend of Banderas in the movie "The13th Warrior", the only one who speaks Latin.  
  
I hope you like him as much as I do. This chapter final version is of 31 January 2003.  
  
As I wrote for the first chapter: if you find anything wrong concerning grammar or spelling, make me know and I'll fix it at once! CHAPTER SUMMARY:  
  
A boy makes a proposal. Up to the girl to decide whether it is indecent or not.  
  
FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION Chapter 2 - Second Week - Saturday More than a Man Can Deserve in a Whole Lifetime  
  
(An Indecent Proposal) A fact is like a sack--it won't stand up if it's empty. To make it stand up, first you have to put in it all the reasons and feelings that caused it in the first place.  
  
Luigi Pirandello  
  
Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart.  
  
Luigi Pirandello  
  
Hermione opened the window near her usual seat, and looked down. The boys were gathering. Waiting for the carriages. Laughs, dins, uproars, and bustle.  
  
Every different group was doing his best in this odd youth concert. Harry waved to her, and Ron cried out, "Do you need anything from Dervish and Banges? Or a book?" She shook her head in answer smiling at them. Ron looked radiant... he was finally in the Quidditch team. And Harry, obviously, was still the Captain. Just today she had cheered them in their Common Room.  
  
Well, actually Ron was a reserve, not a regular. But, regular or reserve, he was a part of the team. And, seeing as he really didn't expect this chance, well, he was absolutely glowing with pride. Honestly, she was unable to understand why he was not a regular Chaser.  
  
His understanding of the play, of the subtleties of strategy, was breathtaking. It was breathtaking to her, at least. And his concentration during the match, even if he was just a bystander, was amazing... well... as long as there were no dancing Veela around. She chuckled. Harry, near the fireplace, before the players were announced, was instructing her, Ginny and a bunch of other adoring little girls about speed, and its importance for a Quidditch team in action.  
  
But she had simply nodded and quite magically disappeared.  
  
To be frank, a lesson on Quidditch untold mysteries could be worse than a lesson from Professor Binns.  
  
Much worse.  
  
She held a smile.  
  
At least, during History of Magic, she was able to spot the right answers.  
  
Wonky Faint... She rolled her eyes. They had teased her with Mr Wronski and his peculiar suicidal habit so much she had forced herself to look for him up in the Library .  
  
A dead boring book she had found. A dead boring book she had dropped. Oh well, Ron can mess up goblins names in History of Magic, she shrugged, and I can mess up Quidditch technical terms. We're even. The only thing she really hoped was that Harry would never be too hard on Ron over speed.  
  
If she had been able to get through that dull book, maybe could solve the long-standing controversy over whether the broom or the rider mattered most.  
  
She smiled.  
  
Ron's beloved second-hand broom cannot have been a help. He had worked the whole summer at the Ministry for his brother, Percy the Pompous, so that he could buy it .  
  
She couldn't help to giggle softly.  
  
Putting Ron down for doing the best he could was not exactly... merciful. But Harry was a good boy. She was probably worrying for nothing. The feast, anyway, had been grand.  
  
The chess game with a very modest chess wizard (Oh, deeply humble, indeed)... fine. But now, their paths, were, as usual, dividing... The boys were dating in Hogsmeade, and the girl, staying at the Library.  
  
They hadn't invited her.  
  
As usual.  
  
This odd ritual started somewhere in the midst of their busy fifth year... and lasted. The O.W.L.'s, the Prefect charge... a bitter smile appeared on her face. Perhaps she was too proud. Or stubborn?  
  
She had always paid a toll for her wish to do always the right thing, like that time of the Firebolt, when Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had evaded from Azkaban. Ron and Harry had acted so childish: such a fuss, because she had fled to Professor McGonagall to let her examine the broom.  
  
She looked back at the boys. Ron was trying to tell her something, "Are you sure? You really don't need anything? We'll bring you a box of Chocolate Frogs from Honeydukes' anyway... you cant resist them!" "Ok!" she burst out laughing. She closed the window. She had always done the right thing, and given the right answer, maybe it was time to change.  
  
She had her own list of priorities, featuring family, Crookshanks, school , grades, everything, in her own peculiar order, and in her list, the two boys came before her Prefect charge.  
  
She sighed, not willing to think back again to what had happened. She gave a quick glance to her usual seat; she had plenty of time. She had already corrected their homework, but of course they didn't know it. Actually, she had nothing to study. Nothing was due, or urgent. Having spent so much time in this Library she had been able to catch up on a lot of work, but her cover, her excuse, would have been blown. She went back to observe them quietly. Their Hufflepuff dates were really cute. And... enjoyable.  
  
Very "enjoyable" she realised suddenly, disapproving and bitter at the same time, observing the passionate never-ending kiss of Ron and Hannah... And Harry was probably trying to break their record with his mate. She wondered again what it was like... "You should try it!"  
  
A voice was mocking her, behind her shoulders. She snapped abruptly, and spotted him. His hands in the pockets, his lazy glance observing her, amused. So casually elegant in his black dress. "Try what?" "Granger, darling, mummy didn't explain anything to you?" "Mind your own business, Malfoy" He lifted an eyebrow, "You are really impolite. Quite rude, I daresay. Very very bad," he grinned playfully, "A prefect never behaves this way." "I am not a prefect anymore, Malfoy." 'Harsh. Too harsh.' "Oh yes, I know, you should be... But you aren't. You gave in. Ten days ago, more or less. How was it? I always saw you as the perfect prefect...". But there was no curiosity in his voice. Just irony. In the fifth year she had become a Prefect. The fifth year... oh yes, that bloody fifth year. Yes, bloody, strong language I am not allowed to pronounce, but I can definitely think of it. For Hermione it was not natural at all to punish her friends. And, seeing as she was "the best friend of all", they all assumed she would have closed her eyes and looked away every time. Covering their pranks. Their fucking pranks. This year, she simply fled to Professor McGonagall's office. And gave up. Stop, over, ended. Her teacher took it badly. It had been embarrassing, standing in front of her and lying, yes, lying, about her wish to have more time for her studies. For a moment she had thought her teacher was going to hug her, but she simply told her "If there is something, anything, you wish you could tell me, the door is always open.".  
  
McGonagall was never been this sensitive with her other students, but she obviously had a soft spot for Hermione. But how could she tell everything to Professor McGonagall? Tell her that she was missing her two only friends? Tell her that, she'd been completely cut out of Harry and Ron's forbidden adventures. Forbidden and dangerous. Oh yes, they were always running to her, but as a last resort, when where was so other solution left, so obsessed by the House points, like they had been obsessed by the Firebolt.  
  
Who could protect them, if they had no sense of danger? If she had to explain everything to the Headmistress, she would have to give hints, embarrassing, details about so many dangerous things they had done (some really stupid), and list the rules they had broken. She didn't want them all expelled, and, mostly, she didn't want to lose her favourite teacher, her esteem, or, perhaps, her love. "I apologise, Granger." His voice was strangely gentle. A hint of shame, perhaps? "But... mind your bloody own business, Malfoy, and don't be such a bastard. But I suppose you can't help it... " Hermione's voice was unusually rough. A hint of despising? More than a hint... "Spiteful words, Granger. When the Slytherin cad is kind, the wonderful Gryffindor saint should show exquisite manners." "I apologise, I didn't mean it." But she was still dry. "I can imagine it is not really ... nice... that you put aside a task you were so proud of, just for your best little pals. And that those ... mates themselves don't care at all, or let's face it, neither understand exactly your... dislike?  
  
And perhaps being left here... unrequited, with your wonderful books as your only company... might be... humiliating? I might understand this, Granger, but I am not responsible for this. And when I talk to you, I'd like you to keep it very, very clear in your mind." His voice was not gentle anymore now. Neither was his glance. "Do you understand me?" he asked, persisting. He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against the wall, looking straight into her eyes. He was not brisk. Not violent. Not scary. But coldly firm.  
  
"Do you understand me? I am not responsible for your little problems," he repeated slowly, "A simple answer, either a nodding, or a shake of your head would be appreciated. Or are polite answers only for House-Elves? Common people are excluded? Or we have to take it as a Slytherin-Gryffindor affair?" "Ok, I'm sorry..." she hushed. She could feel the tears coming to her eyes. Everything else she could bear. Everything else. But that a stranger like Malfoy, could read so well into her silly thoughts, while her so called "best friends" appeared so uncaring and clueless... This, simply this, she was not able to bear at all. She could feel a tear sliding slowly down her cheek. She tried to hide her face.  
  
But he was holding her firmly. And he was studying her, no hint of emotion in his eyes. "Please..." She felt unable to utter anything more. "Alright," said Draco suddenly. He let go of Hermione. "When you feel better, we can discuss a bit." He went back to the window, and opened it again. It took her something like an eternity, maybe a bit more than a simple eternity, to regain her control. She was ashamed of herself. Loosing her control, loosing it in front of Malfoy, the nasty boy who never succeeded in slurring her, really. She was feeling stupid. Again. Too many times this year, let's face it. And the year had just begun. "Granger? So?" but he was not impatient, yet amused, "Do you want to come here? Yes or no?" She was unable to meet his eyes. "Granger, you are a walking oddity, are you aware of that?" He handled her a box of Fizzing Whizbees. "This summer I spent it in the Muggle world. Muggle London is rather interesting. The music, the colours, the people. I met young people from everywhere, and of every kind. It was an exciting experience. Ancient and new together in a oddly balanced mixture... And the girls..." he smirked, "The girls are much more free than in the wizard world.  
  
Probably because here everybody knows everybody else, like a bunch of old gossiping maids. It was really... instructive" he held down a smile, perhaps remembering something he only knew. "Well... and?" "Well. You're a Mudblood. But you behave yourself like some puritan old Victorian country witch." "Don't call me Mudblood!" "I've always called you that, Granger, and I have no intention of changing my habits, just because I saw you crying." He was definitely mocking her. "You are... nasty," she mumbled. "It is a compliment. A better compliment for a Slytherin bastard would be difficult to spot.". He smiled.  
  
"I have got detention for a whole month. Or, rather, four Saturdays in detention. I have to spend them here, at Hogwarts, doing nothing. No foolish essay to write down, no potions to amuse myself with. Snape stated this clearly. His dungeons are off limits to me. I have to " savour the boredom of my own company ". Two Saturdays have quite gone by. And two are left. Two Saturdays I could spend here, looking at you studying, buried within your parchments. My idea of fun indeed..." Draco stopped for while and looked at her. Then he gently lifted her chin with his fingers, their eyes met. "Looking at you studying alone, or, teach you a couple things that you might actually want to learn." "What do you mean?" "I mean what you were looking at with so much interest, and, maybe, but I bet I'm not wrong, with a shade of envy. What you where looking at, from the harbour of this window..." Hermione could not quite breathe. She widened her eyes, and something sarcastic was coming to her mind in a rush. "Calm down, Mudblood. Don't have silly daydreams. I am definitely not interested in a long and never lasting love story with Miss Know-It-All. I have no wish to meet your Muggle family. Nor do I have a wish to bring you to Malfoy Manor, and introduce you to my parents. No engagement parties. No kids, no bunch of grandchildren. None of the classic "good-little-girl" dreams. I am only interested into two Saturdays; let's say three, if you make up your mind quickly. They could be much more entertaining, than I thought. Something between you and I. And the boundaries, the rules, or whatever you might call them, are up to you. To be utterly sincere, I really do not mind if during a casual kiss, the picture of someone else slips into your mind." "By the way," Draco added pensively "I could never figure it out... Who is your little sweetheart? Potter the Saint, or Weasley the Beggar? " "Neither of them. Rita Skeeter's gossip is getting stale." Hermione always got annoyed at questions like this. "So, you really don't mind if I share my hypotheses with you?" Despite the extreme politeness of his voice, his eyes were dangerously laughing. He didn't wait for an answer that would have never come. "With Harry it would be the typical easy happy ending. He's the Noble Hero, who deserves the best of everything. And the Hero always conquers the girl. Apparently he's getting cuter and cuter. At least these are the whispers during his Quidditch training," he smirked. "And his scar... so sexy. Maybe you didn't notice, but very few wizards have scars, and the lucky ones that do are far removed from exciting. They are simply horrible. Such an artistic scar, a lightning bolt, is quite a gift," Draco said in a low, mocking voice. "Gifts usually don't have a price, but Harry paid dearly for it, this gift of yours," Hermione answered bitterly. "It's true. But this... gift... gave him a moving past: Innocence winning over Evil. Without blood, tears, ill will.  
  
No rage, no hate, no wish of revenge... so clean, so antiseptic. So noble. So ... Gryffindor I'd say." "If by this you mean Gryffindor likes noble souls, I take it as a compliment. Or perhaps you meant that being noble is not cheap, not for everybody?" she looked at him spitefully. "I never doubted you would have liked this antiseptic bravery. You are the kind of girl who loves the Noble Hero, who stands out from the crowd. The kind of Hero with more wounds than battles." "Maybe, but it is surely much better than a bunch of masked men, standing in a circle!" Hermione retorted quickly. And she was satisfied to see him bounce guiltily. But he went on, "There is no end for the worst, I'd say. But we were speaking about Harry, not about his playfellows... He drives a lot of girls crazy, you know. And you, you would be so easy to understand. The pathetic ugly ducklings wins her hero, laughing in the face of all those silly girls. Laughing at their lipstick, their nail polish, their matched eye shadows, their perfect Lash Lengthening charm, their well kept Sleekeazy- style hair, and laughing at the queues of charming boys praying for a date with them, but not with you." "I would never use Harry for my vanity!" "You can say whatever you wish. We will never know this for sure. Harry has just discovered the pleasure of dates and girl popularity. Surely he has no time to look at you, the simple useful girl who trots along behind his back. And after all, Harry's deepest wish is still his mother. He doesn't look forward a partner or a personal success, but his mummy, his missed family. Didn't you notice it? I am sure you did. Is it the reason you feel so sad? Because the only way for you to win your Hero would be to become like a mother figure to him. Help him grow. And after such a labour, he would be a man, and would leave you for a real woman, because, every boy waves goodbye to his mummy one day or another." "Have you ever considered I am not interested in being a cherishing mother figure?" Hermione counterattacked. "Yes, you could be another adoring silly ditz. But you would never be able to compete with them. Filling their brains with all that girlish stuff took them the same time it took to you filling your brain with all the subjects you love. We'd see a pathetic result. Is this what drives you mad? That you prefer not to be looked at, than being looked at and forgotten at once?" "Malfoy, I've had enough!" She made a threatning move toward him, the desire to slap him driving Hermione quite mad "Ok, let's change our subject... We leave little Harry Baby... why don't we speak about Weasel Boy? The tagalong. But he's a fascinating tagalong, with sarcastic sense of humour, and temper. Let's face it, Harry is the Hero, but Harry is a bit boring... But Mr Ron-Tagalong is a couple of steps behind his best friend, a few steps behind a brat pack of successful brothers, a single step behind his Quidditch team... Could he bear to be a lot of steps behind his darling? It would be easy for Weasel to use you and then throw you away. Using sarcasm as a fine blade. Hurting you, treating you badly.... A bit like they did when you were a prefect. These satisfactions are unconscious, but rather mean... Is this the trouble? Maybe... this is the real reason why you don't go and take Ron for yourself, if you wish him so much..." "How you dare, you, you... you Slytherin?" She was incredibly angry, and blurted out the last world with all the rage and the spite she could feel. "Granger, being one who is supposed to be top of the class, you appear not to know history that well. Slytherin was one of the four Hogwarts Founders. And a great wizard he was, too. His name is still honoured. Not feared, honoured. If there was something really to despise, if there was shame and dishonour be sure, his name would have been erased from this school, many centuries ago. And his House would've been broken down. It would be an honour being like him. So, Granger, if you want to hurt me, don't use his name as an insult." His voice was smothered in sarcasm. "I, with you... never? You can hear me? I don't like anything of you, I..." She seemed unable, for the first time in her life, to find the right word. "No, Granger. Use that brainy little head of yours. Think of it as one of those tests you do so well on. It is not a you-and-me affair. Not a proposition, but a simple proposal.  
  
You with your little fantasies and me with mine. And, listen, Mudblood, if I had not somehow awoken your ... curiosity," and he lifted an eyebrow with a mocking air, "you would have run away as fast as you could, instead of standing in front of me, looking for an excuse to get offended." "I should need an excuse to be offended? After your... proposal? Are you mad, Malfoy?" "I would never get offended if someone would find me desirable. Being desired, but not being loved... don't be naïve, Granger; some people would pay for less. Many times this is much more than what a man can deserve in a whole lifetime." He left the window, suddenly. After a while, he turned to her and smiled "Look, I have no wish to discuss this point with you. I've got my reasons for the "yes" and the "no". But they are not your business. And surely, you can weigh your reasons, but they are not my business. We can meet each other, within an hour, in the Astronomy Tower. I will be there, waiting for you. Nothing else really matters.  
  
And if you come, we can spend our time as you wish, but frankly, I have no intention to speak about your sweet unrequited love, or about your scruples. This offer may be many things, but it is not an offer of friendship." Silently as he had come, he disappeared up the staircase. Hermione slammed a book on the desk.  
  
To be continued Next chapter: Wanna Try to Divinate? Do You Like What You See?  
  
(Good Girl)  
  
ANSWERS TO THE REVIEWS  
  
Reviews before 30th January 2003  
  
Of course, I am very happy to have reviews, how could it be otherwise??!?!  
  
If I had thought differentely I would have never put myself into this mess of translations, betas and uploadings. Therefore I am very very happy to thank PigwidgeonChick, Harry_Uk, BloodRedInk, Meagan Malfoy, Hermione Malfoy, Emily (d/g rules? An implicit critic?), Sockie, Cathy Doll, Majestic Witch, evy, mickey, lily of the valley, amazed who reviewed chapter 2 and liked it. PennyWise: thanks, yes I wanted to write a Draco/Hermione a bit different... sort of realistic? I hope I will be able.  
  
Now, I've noticed, there are several fictions featuring this couple, and you have new clichés as well.  
  
I've tried not to read these stories, ate least not too many, in order not to rob anything even unwilling, therefore I don't know whether what was original in this story is still original. I hope so, but I'd better hurry up with the translation. Nuada: you are very kind! If this story doesn't seem written by a ten years old it's simply because I am older than ten... jessiCA: thank you for the "well written"! It is really a very good compliment for me! Gary Skinner: thank you for the appreciation Ann Smith: I am glad that your love for Ron / Hermione as couple didn't make you quiver and made you read the same my story! Norwegianner: no Draco cannot read her mind: he is simply a very good observer.  
  
Slytherin people are the predators in Hogwarts ecological system, and predators are able to spot a prey and calculate reactions, otherwise they die of starvation. Petouille: I really have to thank her. She was not appealed by a Draco Hermione, but she liked another fic of mine -The Twelve Moons-. So I owe her kind review to another fic, completely different (very poetic, if I am allowed to praise myself... heheheeh!). Ashavah aka JK: she agreed to go on with the story though she shared Sugarquill views.  
  
I think that this story has in itself its own failure: I like a lot the dynamics this peculiar couple can generate, from many points of view they represent the clash of two different worlds.  
  
Yes Ron and Hermione can banter a lot, but, actually, they share the same points of view about the most important things in life. The main difference is that Ron is a bit laid back and Hermione is rules obsessed and a hyperachiever, in the whole they are a good couple, and probably, that's where JKR is leading the romance path in her books  
  
Draco/Hermione fics can be more interesting, but they have a strange common trait: they often try to clone a Mills and Boon romance with the cruel but sexy male hero, the innocent and sweet young lady, and some steamy (or even very graphic) scenes.  
  
I was very surprised to learn that one of the most popular D/Hr features a very abusive NC-17 relationship, and even more surprised to learn that the public is mostly feminine, and that the author is a woman as well...  
  
I understand that those who like JKR's style finally reject these stories because they are very little canon based... and sometimes slip into controversial subjects like non consensual sex, or consensual rape and so on... All matters I have no intention to discuss here  
  
Sometimes the story is so sex-based that once the hero gets the girl the story ends abruptly for writer's block, probably because there is nothing left to accomplish... but I don't wish to analyse fanon clichés...  
  
The fascination of JKR's world is also in the mixture of fantastic traits with down to earth moral remarks (and the moral traits are so many it is impossible to believe someone burned these books or banned them from public libraries).  
  
In the end, some of these D/Hr stories have nothing to do with the original potterverse, and it is difficult to make a "purist" read a D/Hr.  
  
On the other side, this story is not MillsandBoonish, and, at the end, annoys the average D/Hr shipper, who finds it slow or terribly boring.  
  
In the whole, those who could like it probably would never read it because of the shipping.  
  
Had it been better to use an Original Character? A Slytherin Gary Stu?  
  
Probably yes. There are several Slytherin oriented stories with nice, believable characters, and Anthony Bond, in Dux Dolosus by Ashavah (aka JK) is probably meant to be one of them.  
  
Anyway it was good to read JK's opinions because her remarks (very kind, by the way) made me look at this issue under this light, in the long run. Am I angry or disappointed? no, not really; honestly I hoped I could get more praise and popularity, i.e. reviews, but somehow I'm ok this way as well. 


	3. II Week, Saturday: Wanna Try to Divinat...

**DISCLAIMER**:   
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

**THANKS**:   
To **Quinn**, my first beta reader, a very reliable girl who helped me a lot. Unluckily, I lost every contact with her.   
To **Paleologus**, who gently spotted and corrected the odd idiomatic expressions.   
  
My intention was to put a thank to all my **wanna-be-beta-readers**, as well: if I'd ever write a book I'd write it about my adventures in beta-land...   
Maybe I've simply bad luck, but I met a lot of kind girls all suffering of the same desease: "I-want-to-do-more-things-than-I-can-handle-and-if-I-don't-succeed-what-the-hell-do-you-want-from-me?".   
This strange sensitive pack, generally offers to beta for you enthousiastically: they love to beta! They love your fic! They 'd love to help you improve it.   
After you send them the first chapter, they generally disappear in the twirl of their hectic lives...   
Do they wish to make you know they have no time anymore because they decided to go trekking to Nepal, or to found a new religion, or simply have a lot of homework? Oh no... who are you, anyway? A person waiting for them? Oh no, only a living entity a bit lower than House Elves.   
Do they tell you that you fic stinks? It is the best reason to give up betaing, and, frankly, it could be of invaluable help, especially if you are translating it from your language into another you barely know... Are they too gentle? Who knows?   
Anyway, you have to chase after them, and they'll answer you "what do you want from me? I am busy! But I loooove to beta. As soon as possible I'll start again to beta your stuff...".   
Again? But if they never started...   
However, after a couple of months, you delete their address.   
Unluckily they do not delete yours. I remember a funny girl: I never got a betaed line back from her, but she used my address for chain e-mails!!!   
For this reason: thanks to the wanna-be-betas as well, for the startled fun they gave me.   
  
Thanks, indeed, to all the **reviewers**: I am glad someone liked this story, and took the time to make me know! 

**PERSONAL NOTE**:   
This is the Cinderella chapter of the fic: readers didn't like it.   
I did my best to write it again.

**CHAPTER SUMMARY**:   
_ A girl starts bickering with herself._

* * *

  
  
  
**

A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

**

Chapter 3 - Second Week - Saturday

Wanna Try to Divinate? Do You Like What You See?  
(Good girl)

_"What terrifies you most in purity," I asked?   
"Haste," William answered.   
Umberto Eco - The Name of the Rose, Fifth Day, Nones _

  
  
  


For a while she looked angrily at the old book. The dust was everywhere, on the desk, on the floor... but mostly all over her. 

'For the future: if you choose to slam a book on a desk, don't choose a book no one dared to read during the last century.'

She could catch a glimpse of her face reflected in the window, and she suddenly saw a blurry picture of herself: a mix of horror, angst, spite and ... well, guilt.

She burst out giggling. 

'I have to be honest: tragedy doesn't suit me. If I understand correctly: me, with my messy hair, my ink spots everywhere and this ancient dust on the tip of my nose, me, Hermione Granger, I had an... indecent proposition.' She chuckled 'and from the Amazing Bouncing Ferret... Oh well, just a few days ago, only a week, I was complaining about something missing in my life... I probably didn't write the right words to Santa and he made a mess.'

Crookshanks, silent as a ghost, appeared near her and jumped on the desk.

The cat purred gently and then stared at her, idly narrowing his eyes.

"Now, my dear cat I'd like to have your full attention" she started slowly stroking his fur.

"Yes," she added, lowering her voice, "Otherwise someone would think I'd gone mad... poor Hermione, speaking to herself, all alone in the Library..."

She sat down. She didn't care about Malfoy, well... about Draco, no, about Malfoy. 'I've always called him that, and I have no intention of changing my habits, just because he saw me crying'. This was for sure.

If you want to be able to care about someone, you should know him first. And this sixth year version of Malfoy, she frankly didn't know at all. He had gone through some improvements. Maybe. But the first version was no prize. Nor second. Nor the third... and the... 'Ok, very well... I can count.'

He had been the pampered kid. And this was putting it kindly: a nasty kid, whose wishes his family was proud to fulfil. His true wishes, and a lot of other kinds of cravings. And even the wishes he didn't know he could have.

She could bet on it with a gang of goblins and win.   
Yes, he still was Draco Malfoy: The Amazing Bouncing Ferret.   
But he was also the seductive boy Parvati used to sneak around with, late at night. And not just Parvati, maybe. Surely. 'Ok, surely, but then? The number of sweethearts he has all over the school doesn't really matter.'

"Crookshanks, my very dear friend, this way, having a ... date ... with him, would be just indulging a simple physical emotion"

"No, dear, this would be 'doing the blockhead simpering baby', don't you agree?"

"And what would be wrong with that? For once in my life, what would be wrong? What?"

"The very first thing I could think of? I am a good girl."

"Very well, I am a good girl, I cannot choose not to believe myself, but... Who stated good girls can't kiss?"

Crookshanks lazily moved his tail.

"Well, my sweet cat, we come to the heart of the matter, and I can see you agree with me. We said 'kiss', but, are we sure it would be only 'kissing'? With Malfoy?" 

Hermione sighed. "Yes. Only kissing.   
And it would be "maybe-kissing", not "kissing-for-sure".   
The boundary is up to me. And I am not a conceited, absurd girl." Her voice had raised to an high pitched note, and Crookshanks looked at her quizzically.

"Oh, yes, I know what you are thinking of... You wonder what I want to prove? That I can get an A also in this ... class? Why not?"

"But a truthfully good 'good girl' should wait for the great love of her life. And meanwhile... be shy."

"Oh yes, the true love.... Like Harry and Ron? With no doubt they are in Hogsmeade now, waiting for their great loves, the loves of their lives. I can imagine them clearly in my head. They're alone. No worthless girl around, of course.

And they are just in the middle of High Street, standing... and waiting. Waiting for the true love. So shy... I saw their shyness before... shy never ending kisses in front of everybody! Ouff! No stupid lies, thank you."

"Harry and Ron mean nothing: a girl is... different."

"Oh yes, I was sure we would come around to this. A boy is 'good', if he is sensitive, sensible and honest, but what about his sexual life? It doesn't matter, of course. And a girl? A good girl is mainly a girl who doesn't snog with boys. Oh yes, she can be mean to her friends, she can be silly, she can be vain... she can be whatever, provided she doesn't identify herself as a possible sexual subject! "

"Oh no! Hush my darling! This is not a three-rolls-parchment essay on gender. This is life."

Crookshanks purred gently.

"I'm right. This is my life. Mine. I should spend it using my brain at best. Understanding difficult reasoning, but being clueless about my emotions. And this would be... normal?"

"Yes, it would be."

"No, thank you. I don't get it. One thing is the wish to try something... forbidden, but... harmless. And one very different thing is the wish to grow up faster and faster, and then, when I would like to go back, discover that I can't go back anymore."

"Well, forbidden feelings are dangerously near points of no return."

"But the whole deal should not be this "point of no return", everyone appears so obsessed about, the real matter should be to never, never ever, change yourself, in order to please someone else.

I might choose to be or do many things, but the core of this... tragedy is that I got no intention to being... cherished paying such an unfair price. I won't pretend I like the things someone else dies for, so that he could look at me differently. I don't want to lessen myself so that this hypothetical 'he' might feel ... big.

I don't want to become a stupid... groupie (but where the hell did Malfoy ever pick up that word?). And, speaking of Mr I'm-so-sexy-Malfoy, with him I would like to do nothing more than spending a couple of Saturday afternoons together."

She started nuzzling Crookshanks' ear, and he slowly relaxed.

"So," she continued thoughtfully, "I'm like an animal? I am like Malfoy?

Sometimes being desired but not loved is more than a woman can deserve in a whole lifetime?"

"Oddly bitter?"

"Well, let's face it. The most marvellous thing would be having both: the love, and the wish.

But, it's a fairy dream, a sweet illusion. During the last Ball, I was looking at all those elegant dates, and I suddenly realised they were mostly accidental couples.

That night, I would have been pleased if a boy had invited me to dance. And it was not because I felt the compelling wish to speak about SPEW..."

"And would I still be the good girl?"

"I am what I am. And what I can be.

But I would have felt honoured if a boy had just done only ten steps across the Great Hall, to put his hand on my shoulder, and danced with me, because he had spotted me as myself. Not simply as a girl. 

I was lying at the mirror of the window, in the Library. 

Yes, I would like to be spotted as a girl, with the grown up body and so on. 

But, actually I'd like more. Or something different. Not only a girl. I would have liked to be spotted as Hermione Granger. Not as the bookworm who can give you the right answers for an Arithmancy quiz, but as Hermione, the gentle girl who can chat about other topics. 

I have warmth inside myself. 

And intelligence. 

Why couldn't I be a girl someone could like? And, I said 'like', not 'fancy'. I wasn't looking for... an A plus.

And now, frankly, a part of me is... flattered, yes flattered, why not? That there is a boy who would do the more than one hundred steps of that stupid Astronomy Tower."

Hermione kissed one of the cat's ear.

"And, to be utterly fair, now I feel like a stupid bitch. I look like most other selfish girls I use to despise, probably. Because I am positively surprised that this boy is not the lumpish nerd everyone would like to pair me with. Attracted by yummy body, not by the brain…"

"Very well Hermione. Are you waiting for applause? Don't be silly! That boy is not doing all those steps for you, but for his own fantasies. And you are not part of it... You are nothing."

"I am aware. And the difference between a good girl and a bad girl is not in the number of kisses she shares. The real difference is that if you really want to try a different taste in your life, you don't have to close your eyes and see the true love where there's no love at all in order to remain still 'the good girl'. You don't need to compel yourself to call any slight emotion your true love. 

And you don't have to bargain your true love, if you happen to feel it, in order to get... physical satisfaction. A good girl is first of all good to herself."

"Physical satisfaction? Are you playing with poetry, darling?"

"Oh my God! This is just a stupid date! A boy and a girl together. Why do we have to treat it like it's a national emergency? I have no intention of doing anything special, just what I'd do at Hogsmeade!"

"The Astronomy Tower is not 'The Three Broomsticks'. In Hogsmeade you are safe, with crowds of students everywhere... in the Astronomy Tower you are alone. You and Malfoy."

"Balls! Worrying about that is farfetched. It is a simple date. And we... I... treat it as if I had to choose, at once, between Scarlet Woman or Perfect Hen."

She grinned. But the matter was already settled in her head. Of course, she was not going to the Astronomy Tower. Hermione had her life rules, and no intention to break them. She was a rational girl. A rational good girl.

It was just that a part of her was too bossy about these rules. And the other half was too stubborn to be ruled, even by herself.

So? All this foolish fuss and then? No Saturday date, as usual.

She sighed. This year she looked ready for St. Mungo's.

Scarlet Woman or Perfect Hen? She could not help but smile.

They weren't appealing possibilities. But there was also the third choice. She could be a strict, unmarried maid, a working woman. A woman able to achieve interesting goals in her professional field, without the burden of lovers, husbands, or children. A woman like... Professor McGonagall. 

Well, you can't teach in a witchcraft and wizardry school, be the Head of a House, the HeadMistress, help the Headmaster, discuss Ministry problems, study and fight for the sake of the world, if you have to take care of a whole family and de-gnome your garden, like Molly Weasley, for instance. You have to sacrifice something.

She stood up. Crookshanks observed her questioningly.

Hermione moved slowly to the picture of her teacher. Yes, there was a picture of McGonagall, a much younger McGonagall, on a library wall. She had met it by chance, and then she looked it up right away in "Hogwarts: A History".

Of course, she had found was she was looking for.

Minerva McGonagall had been the youngest Animagus of her times. She'd achieved it during her second year at Hogwarts, in a time where students had more freedom, and could make dangerous experiments.

Minerva McGonagall, the goddess of intellectual activities. And a fighter, as well.

'Minerva's name is as beautiful as mine. Mythological. Unusual. Old fashioned.'

' My parents granted me such a peculiar name, Hermione, instead of an every day Mary, Emily, or Elizabeth... And Minerva, she had to be a girl at Hogwarts. Just like me, and "like" me in more than one way.'

The proof of McGonagall's youth was in front of her eyes. The picture stated it clearly; Minerva had been a pretty girl. Well, let's face it, not a beautiful girl. Surely not one who deserves catcalls at the Sorting Hat Ceremony

Catcalls were for Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons Champion, or for Lavender Brown. She smiled remembering her first year...

And surely "beautiful" was for Parvati. Parvati, who, together with her sister Padma, was the most charming girl in her year.   
Elegant black haired Parvati, who didn't need a drop of Sleekeazy's.   
Interesting Parvati, with something cold and detached in every move she made.

Well, McGonagall wasn't Parvati, even their kinds of coldness were different.

But, surely, this girl who was waving to her, from somewhere placed many years ago, had been "pretty".

It was saddening to think of the way she was now. Strict. Unbending. Severe. Well, not to her, really. She could sense her closeness many times.

A spark of her future flickered through her brain. She could see herself... here, at Hogwarts. ('Of course, where else?') But at the other side of the desk.   
A teacher.

Well if she wanted teacher-style hair, she would have had to cut it. She giggled. It wasn't that bushy anymore, but probably only because of its length, and weight. But having her hair worn in a bun... 

Impossible. 'I'll cut it very short. It would be much more practical.' Her hair had been useless till now, so, no regrets.

This future would suit her a lot. After all the needed study, she could ask Dumbledore, the Headmaster, to let her stay at Hogwarts. Perhaps at the beginning she would be too inexperienced to have a class of her own. Maybe she could start sharing work and office with her favourite teacher. They could drink pumpkin juice together every Thursday, and on Saturdays they could go to Hogsmeade together.

Gillywater for McGonagall, and a Butterbeer for Granger. Or she could try Elderflower wine... No, no alcohol, she settled in her mind.

She could have her "usual seat" at "The Three Broomsticks Inn", just as she had it here, in the Library.

Maybe she could do a year at Beauxbatons, just to gain a different experience. Durmstrang was out of question, of course: a Muggleborn can't enrol that school. At least, not for now.

And she could make a lot of changes; first of all the House Elves. 

'They are like the blue collars of muggle world. I'll study the muggle laws, and put a bit of pressure on the Ministry... We could organise them in shifts. Shifts, retirement, tax and wages.'

Everything from the Muggle British world she came from.

And then, every year, she would start her first lesson transfigurating matches into needles. 

Matches into ... needles. 

Matches ... into ... needles.

Matches ... into ... needles?

Suddenly the whole dream didn't look so appealing. A chill ran under her spine.

'I don't want to end it this way!' she thought wildly, lifting her chin defensively.

'I want to be able to remember something more. Besides all the dates of goblins revolts. Besides the ingredients of the most complicated potions, besides the twelve uses of dragon blood.

Something besides my beloved books, too.

I want something to balance the bitterness of all these Saturdays alone in the Library. I want to remember something special and forbidden at the Astronomy Tower.'

She savagely ran out of the Library (but not slamming the door...)

Crookshanks started dashing his tail nervously.

  
  
  


_To be continued_

Next Chapter: **Of Landscapes, Potions, Squirrels, Elves and Training Shoes   
(Sweet things are made of this, who am I to disagree?)**

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ANSWERS TO THE REVIEWS

This chapter, till now is the Cinderella of the whole story: only four people dared review it! 

I have to thank **JK**, who appreciated it even if this pairing made her quiver, **Ann** **Smith**, and **Majestic** **Witch**.   
I have to thank **textualsphinx**, as well, but I do not agree with her: this is not an "inner monologue" of Hermione thinking about her professional future. It is more about what you may happen to think when you are a teen and you have to cope with sex, boys, your expectations, the other people's opinion and so on. Of course when you are more than twenty everything becomes "normal" again. 

About the fair share, yes, men do it, but if you choose a family (= children), unless you are a billionaire, the time for yourself and the options of your life drastically reduce.

But probably I did not write it well...


	4. II Saturday Of Landscapes, Potions, Squi...

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TITLE: A Four Saturdays Detention (4/?)

AUTHOR NAME : smoke

AUTHOR EMAIL: tiziana_spano@yahoo.it

CATEGORY : Romance

KEYWORDS: Hermione Granger Draco Malfoy

SPOILERS : _All The Books/All Four Books_

RATING: PG 13 

SUMMARY : A girl finds a companion for good bickering.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

THANKS :   
To Quinn (marleystar) my first beta reader.   
To Paleologus, the second betaer, who really helped me with the sense of sentences.   
To all the reviewers.

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A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

Chapter 4 - Second Saturday

Of Landscapes, Potions, Squirrels, Elves and Training Shoes  
(Sweet things are made of this, who am I to disagree?)

Well, I can tell you that if there was only a single language for all humanity, we wouldn't have all the stories we have.   
Every culture, every civilization, every language is able to invent different stories, to look at the world from a different point of view.   
That is the great advantage to having many languages: many different stories.   
Quoted form an interview to Eco 

For a moment she thought he had gone: reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower had taken her a while.

After her first sudden rush, she had slowed down, hoping to detect Filch's footsteps, or Mrs Norris' purrs; but on this late Saturday afternoon the cantankerous caretaker was everywhere but on that crooked staircase.

Draco, no, Mr Malfoy, was there.

"You made up your mind, finally, Granger..."

"I weighed everything and, well..."

"No, thanks," he halted her with an ironic smile "Good girls like you have all sorts of scruples. I know them all. But rehashing together your excuses and your reasons would be just a waste of time. I am not an intellectual Ravenclaw."

"No, you are a wicked Slytherin."

"Wicked, maybe. Surely sexy, at least... for you..." Can a voice be slothful?  
"But of course," he added sincerely wondering, "You are a Gryffindor. You should crave adventures. You'd be like the falcon. Instead you usually look like the mouse, a judicious cinnamon mouse." The last sentence was definitely mocking.  
He took her hand.  
"Come and see the landscape, and put yourself at ease."

Well, the view wasn't that bad. She had been at the Tower, but by night, to study Astronomy.

Draco waved his wand and muttered something. In the old rocky wall, near the staircase, a knob suddenly appeared. It was the door of a sort of closet (she couldn't see it very well, Draco was too tall).  
He threw her some huge pillows. 'The Hufflepuff colours?' she wondered suddenly, fingering the yellow embroidery on the black tissue. They were light, and soothing.

"Make yourself at home."

"I didn't know there was a closet here."

"Well, it's supposed to be invisible..." he lifted an eyebrow, "One of the many things you probably have missed, always buried in your books"

"But... whose pillows are these?"

"Comfort lovers I'd say." he smirked, "Astronomy lovers too. But there's not a lot of them, usually."  
He laid down, at ease, and observed the landscape with her.  
"Granger, I'm trying to make you feel at ease." He had a smile.  
"Also because the first move is up to you... And, Granger... I have plenty of time."

"What?" Whose voice was that? So scared?

"Yes, you make the decisions.... I just do the proposals," he answered lazily.

He continued: "Frankly, I find it stupid, sick and sickening when I see a girl who dreams of being wooed into audacious adventures, but still wants to be a 'good girl'. Maybe she would rather moan a whole lot of insincere 'no's, and imagine that there's some kind of big emotional involvement where really there's only lust

Well, it is not my favourite game. I am not going to tear off your dusty uniform, throw you down on these cushions, whisper sweet nothings, overcome by impulsive passion, like some rapist"

He looked straight into her eyes.  
"Always." And he outlined his words. "I have always preferred, and will always prefer two willing people, even for a chess game, to someone who wishes to be abused."

He went back to his lazy attitude.

"So if you were daydreaming about a rendezvous with the Big, Bad wolf... well... this is not the enchanted forest..."

Hermione looked at him placidly.

"The rules are up to me?" her voice was sweet and innocent. But her eyes?

"Yes...", started Draco.

"Very well. Then... shut up!" said Hermione briskly.

They stayed there, in silence. He was not looking at her, but was absorbed in admiring the view.

She was playing nervously with the hem of her uniform. She stared, shy, at her own hands. Her hands... oh no. She blushed furiously. Another cursed, damned, ink spot... The dark mark of the quills addicted.   
Again.  
'My first true date, and here I am, my school uniform, full of dust. And ink spots on my fingertips.... And I don't want to know what else I didn't bother to check...' A bookworm style date...

She stole a glance in his direction. He looked shrouded in his own thoughts. Far away, and perfectly at ease, comfortable with his arms crossed, behind his head, yet elegant. 'How can he feel secure?'

She had never imagined it this way. Sometimes she had found herself imagining going on a date with someone. But now it was like not being able to dance. There are some people, who can dance marvellously, with grace, and strength. And there are some people who do the most wonderful steps only inside themselves, but when they dare move...

She was feeling clumsy, and ridiculous. If only... if only he had made the first move...

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"I... well...", 'Why don't you help me?', "The landscape is really beautiful," she ended in a hurry.

Draco burst out laughing. Rolling on the enormous pillows he could not stop smirking.

"Stop it!" Hermione glared at him.

"Sorry, but I couldn't help it." He grinned broadly. "Granger, you are whimsical. On your... experience, girls come here to chat about the landscape?"

"It is a beautiful view". Too stiff?

"Of course it is a beautiful view!" - he was teasing her, like always - "But this beauty should inspire beautiful sinful thoughts. And sentences like 'This view is beautiful, but pales beside the view of you and I, together, carried away by waves of passion.'..."

"Well, perhaps it pales beside the view of you would be enough.", she said severe.

"Oh, Granger the midget became pretty, but nobody took notice? How could she pass this test? Perhaps we could find something in the Library?", his voice stifling in the middle of sarcasm and wonder.

"You can' t help being a bastard, I suppose."

"A bastard of a Slytherin, but who knows what he wants, will always be much better than a brazen Gryffindor Know-It-All, awkward when it comes to every day life!"  
The answer was biting, coming out as an old habit: Draco said it very casually, even though it was hurtful.   
The matter-of-fact remark cut her deeply: she started back, in hurt.  
Their eyes couldn't meet.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have the right to say that. Not to you." He murmured toying with a lock of her hair.  
"These Saturdays are meant to be a peaceful moment for both of us. No useless crap..." he told her quietly.

"Perhaps, it would help if we struck up a conversation."

"Why? You want to pretend we are pretending to care what each other thinks?"

"Well, I was thinking of sort of a date."

"Well, a date is exactly this way..." he said patiently, "Two young people pretending to care about safe, meaningless chit-chat. No real exchange of thoughts. Really."

"Perhaps, it is simply that I am not an animal."

"Oh yes, hard-to-get Granger. Surprise me. Light me up. What do you want to talk about? Goblin revolts?"

She rolled her eyes. The last time she had really got to know someone else, it took being locked in the girls' bathroom with a Mountain Troll. Did it always have to be so difficult for her? Every time?.

"Who is your favourite teacher?". Tentatively.

He gave her a surprised glance, then shrugged 'As you wish.'

"Snape"

"Oh well", she turned up her nose.

"He's smart."

"Well... he knows his subject."

"He knows it very, very well. He challenges us. At least the Slytherin students who value Potions. And he is not only closed within the borders of his subject. He is more complete than other teachers of ours."

"You mean he would be able to teach Defence Against Dark Arts, too?"

"That too. But that's more. He made choices in his life, at least, as far as I can tell. In his own way. And he is honest to himself: he does what he thinks is right, he doesn't care about being popular at any cost."

"Well..."

"So?"

"I don't understand him. And it is difficult for me to value a teacher I fail to understand". Hermione tried to answer, cautious. It was like walking on eggs, with Malfoy.

"Understanding... indeed. Therefore you value a man only if you can easily understand him. If the life model he offers to you is the very same as yours. If he teaches you things you already know, and that you find reassuring. In other words, if he shares your prejudices," he said dryly.

"A person is one thing, a teacher is something else entirely. Anyway, that's not what I meant that and you know it." 'Let's try to go back to safe, meaningless chit-chat...'

"So, what did you mean, exactly?" Sarcasm. Of course, what else?

She tried to find the right words, but ... "He has a horrid personality!" she exploded

"Really?" he sounded sincerely surprised. "Horrid?"

"Are you joking, Malfoy?" she was, now, sincerely surprised.

"Maybe he is not polite at all costs...", he replied, "But he is just."

"Just? Just with Neville?"

"Granger, when the end of the term comes, can Longbottom brew his potions? Yes or no?"

"Well... yes."

"And how are those potions?"

"Decent... not first-rate, but they work."

"And his charms?"

She couldn't help a little smile "Charms ... rather slack."

"So, at the end of term he had learnt how to cope with Potions, but not with Charms."

"It doesn't mean anything! Bullying is not an acceptable teaching method."

"Criticism is crucial to the learning process. Not giving accurate criticism, even sharp criticism if it is needed, means you don't respect someone." He was very calm.

"Please Malfoy..."

"A 'Please Malfoy' from you? You, who are a product of Muggle world, and of a very individualistic society... Where some of the people are ready to stab your in the back for their benefits."

"Malfoy, the world outside is based on competition... That's why you need a balance. What is the use of outlining people's mistakes? What is the real use of making the poor boy feel guilty?" She was calm too.

"Please Granger. These times don't suit bleeding hearts."

"You want a world of perfect people, and no room for the weak. What do you believe in? In good breeding?"

"On the contrary. I'd like an honest world, not a hypocritical good world, a world where you try to teach to everybody how to be independent.   
Not a world where only few happy people can stand on their own, and the others cannot, but, please, we mustn't tell them the truth...  
Every time I saw you correcting Longbottom's botched potions I would have liked to scream at you. You were only burning away his chance to learn. Or to find a reason to concentrate on something he probably simply doesn't like. Why should he have to, though? You are there... But not forever, of course..."

"I was only trying to help him. Not to cover for him."

"Help. Sometimes help is another word for 'making it easier for him', a hypocrite in search of the spotlight."

"None of us does that with Neville. We value him. And we respect him."

"With 'us', of course you mean the Gryffindor clique, obviously... Only, tell me Granger, you came to the Astronomy Tower with me, and you know we are not here to study the constellations. At least, you should know it... You would come here, with Longbottom, if he asked you politely? With this boy you value so highly. And you respect, of course. You would feel honoured... I am right?"

"No..."

"Ah!"

"Excuse me, Professor Malfoy, Would you please explain me what you mean by that?"

"Excuse me, Professor Granger, would you please explain to me the difference between a Gryffindor lass, dismissing Longbottom with an excuse and a smile (because she thinks he is not in her league, let's say it straight) and a Slytherin girl, a Pansy, just to make an example, who dismisses him saying 'Frankly I do not like you. Because most of the time you behave like a dumb boy'? What difference exactly?"

"A BIG difference."

"NO difference."

But they weren't angry. Not really.  
"Come here Granger. There is only half an hour left. And, this way, we're stuck."  
He stroked her hair lightly. She widened her eyes, in alert. He made no brisk movements, but went on lazy as usual. His fingers tangled in her russet mass, he slowly unshielded her cheeks.

She dropped her eyes, silent and afraid.

His hands cupped her face. She waited breathless. 

Yes or no?

With no hurry he traced the arch of her eyebrows and gradually followed the path of her nose. The upper lip and, gently his thumb soothed her mouth. Sweetly. Slowly. He continued learning the paths of her face, with his fingertips, with no hurry, as if he had all the time of the world. 

Yes or no?  


He felt her relaxing. She got closer. Unaware? Only when she finally closed her eyes, he kissed her.  


Gentle.  


Later, in her bedroom, alone, while she was reviewing every little moment, completely relaxed, she decided that the right word was simply that. Gentle.

He had cuddled her lips, waiting idly for her answer. He was very surprised to find her so awkward, and, well, candid. He was tempted, for a while, by a harsh comment. Irony was never spared with this Gryffindor. But he eventually decided not to tease her.

'Probably her very first kiss...' He sighed in disbelief 'Let's make it a nice experience.'

After several minutes, he left her lips, and stroked her cheek.

Hermione crouched within his arms, her eyes closed, shrouded in her thoughts, while Draco nuzzled her hair.  
Actually, he had always assumed that Ron, or Harry, or maybe both the boys had used her for their first clumsy experiments with girls.

It would have been natural, even banally obvious. It would have been much easier with a friendly partner than with a stranger.  


Like Pansy and himself, he smiled. Each one had used the other one without too much romantic nonsense. 

And without wickedness, meanness, jealousy, or sense of possession. Surely with a good deal of patience and kindness, and a few laughs as well... 'But... this is the right way we have to do it...?' 'No please...' 'Yes' 'Yes?' 'Do you like it?' 'This way?' '...your elbow...'. He suppressed a laugh, remembering those silly moments.

Pansy, who does things her own way, Pansy, self-centred, Pansy, cast in his same mould. Pansy, well, she was a friend. A good friend.

With other girls it had been often different. Too different.

The simple thought of Parvati, was still hurting him somewhere. He smirked. Parvati's memory was like a top speed bludger right in the middle of your stomach during a Slytherin Quidditch training with Glenn (he didn't like magical remedies for this nonsense). The spot still hurts with the wrong movement. And he had not yet learnt the right movements about her memory. He had tried, yes he had really tried to put away the bad moments. But with dreams and regrets? It was difficult. For everyone, maybe.

'The real pain is not the sudden hit, but the never-fading bruise it leaves.'

Their sentences, unrequited, rushed in... 'Don't call me "love"...' 'Why? How do you call this damned thing?' 'What's this for you? This thing burning both of us inside out. This thing that has no break, no bore, no control, no common sense, no shame? At least, I feel no shame for us, for the woman I love. And I'll never feel ashamed...,' '... social respectability... another girl more suited to you... better this way' '... And I would just like to choke...'

He had tightened his fists, his hands turning white. His fists were imperceptibly shaking, but he realised it only when he felt another hand, so cold, touch him.

Hermione was looking up at him. Startled.

For a while their eyes met. They studied each other, but they weren't able to retrieve anything familiar, or, at least, something they had already met in the eyes of the other. They dropped their eyes at exactly the same moment.

He looked down at her, observing: she was suddenly becoming tense, nested in his arms, unsure about what to do.

To him she appeared like a healthy little animal. A smart pet, on alert, suspicious. That little brain of hers was like a mouse trap, always ready to snap. Her hair was ruffled everywhere. 'She's sort of like a domestic pet. But not really. There is something untamed inside. And reckless: she never stops thinking.

Much better for both of us she is so... inhibited. This way, it will just fade away in a couple of Saturdays. With no harm.'

"You look like a squirrel." He tried tentatively. A hint of gentleness?

She stared at him, suspiciously. "I'm not quite sure how to take that." 

"A simple statement would work?." He looked tired. The truce could go on?

"Once upon a time, I had a squirrel..." she said cautiously. Another step towards safe and meaningless chit-chat.

"You are joking, I hope."

"Really, I had a squirrel."

"You mean you had a squirrel, a living squirrel in a cage?"

"Well... yes"

"But... he was hurt?"

"Oh no! He was healthy. Of course!"

"It is simply disgusting. A disgusting image that makes me want to vomit.

"What is disgusting?" She was lost.

"I find loathsome, the idea someone could keep a squirrel in a cage. As a stuffed pet."

"Oh yes, of course... you would torture him..."

"Oh yes, sure. I'd go out with all my little friends, all masked, standing in a circle, and we would spend the afternoon torturing a squirrel with the Cruciatus curse. With a break for teatime. I can imagine very well what's flickering in your mind... the childhood of a promising Slytherin."

"What would you do, then, with a squirrel?"

"I'd set him free. In the woods he belongs to... devouring the best nuts, if he can, and screwing around with the best she-squirrels, if he can. Or shivering for the cold."

"And if he can't?"

"If he can't, it is over. Much better for his own sake, if he can. But life isn't easy, for anybody. True life I mean, not zoo life, like here at Hogwarts, for instance."

Under different circumstances she would have liked to retort. But the desire to use her sharp tongue was not as strong as her curiosity.

"But you mean you never had an animal, beside your eagle owl? Maybe a toad?"

"A toad would just crown the whole bloody matter. I am not Neville Longbottom. The right place for toads is a pond, not a shoebox. You would hardly find a toad, or a mouse in the whole Slytherin House. When there is no gain, we are not cruel with animals."

"I was not cruel at all with my squirrel! I cherished him!"

"Oh yes, now I get it. You cherished him. It means you were using him not to feel lonely. Cruelty with no interesting goal. The real cruelty."

"Are you mad?"

"Granger, you had a squirrel and you wanted him to live your own way. You obliged him to live the life, YOU thought was the most beautiful for him. A balanced feeding, I think... And his time beating on your rhythm. No kind of sex life. And a child for a playfellow... of course when she wished to play with him. You didn't leave him room for choices... Now I get the whole SPEW matter... You started as a kid with squirrels, and now you want to do the same with Elves... The childhood of a promising Gryffindor."

"Oh no! Elves are people, and their rights have been denied for centuries!"

"Maybe. But it is not your job to go tell them what they must think, Or do you think they are unable, without your intervention?

If 'till now they have accepted it, probably 'till now they wanted or liked it this way. Or it is not their time, yet. Meanwhile they can read, and write. And they live in communities. And they have a role in this society, a very important role. Ask your friend Mr Sidekick-Weasley whether he could afford his instruction here, under other circumstances....

Or perhaps you think that their role, what they do, even for you and your comfort, day by day, has no value at all. Are they too low for you? Or you respect only those on top of the social pyramid? Your work is not yourself, your whole personality. Your soul if you believe in this."

"If you don't have a full understanding of what freedom is, you won't know what you really want , and you will never be able to ask. Freedom is a right, but at the same time, it is a privilege, too. And-"

He halted her in a rush. "Therefore, the one who has to do the sensible requests, at their place, is you. And, then, of course, you will explain to them what is right, and what is wrong. Excuse me, I didn't notice it before... you are the professor of Advanced Freedom for Magical Creatures..."

"Oh Malfoy... I had... sort of sensation, quite a Trelawney-style odd divination feeling you would not agree with me..."

"Being one who left Divination in such a ... dramatic way, you are amazingly good with predictions."

"House-Elves are so useful, Malfoy, don't you agree?". At least irony wasn't wasted on him.

"Granger, with the money I have, it is not me who needs an Elf. For the right price I could get a perfect wizard from this Witchcraft and Wizardry stiff School doing the same things for me an Elf might do, and calling me Master Malfoy, or whatever I'd like him to call me. And I wouldn't allow him to sleep in my house. That's for sure.

Now, please, do not faint in shock... It is your ideas I don't share. It is your behaviour, always annoyingly confident and outspoken."

She widened her eyes.

"I might, maybe, really maybe, under really amazing circumstances, accept one of those ridiculous SPEW badges. But from an Elf, who is asking me what he really wants. And probably I'll negotiate the price. My interests against his. I don't offend people with charity. But I have difficulties accepting the same badge from you, who wants to transform a Magical Creature with his own sense of life, into a copy of yourself.

Oh yes, you are better than many people who see their bed done and don't ask themselves who did it. Maybe you cherish them. But you do not respect them. You treat them as ... hamsters."

"It is not true. You treat them without sympathy and comprehension. Life is not simply the survival of the strongest. Life is support and evolution, too. Is it possible you haven't yet learnt the value of co-operation?"

"Life for you."

"Life for Muggles, the world I come from." She said with pride. 'Yes pride, I am proud to be a Muggleborn. I am proud to be as I am. And all your 'Mudbloods' cannot hurt me because in my dreams I don't dream to become a Pureblood. A Muggle is much better than a Pureblood.'

"Oh yes... sure... I knew I was missing something... Muggle sanctity, it had quite skipped me..."

"You could learn a lot from the Muggle world, you, over-proud pureblood. Don't you know it?"

"I'm here, waiting..."

"If only you didn't have all those prejudices of yours..." she was looking at him with pity.

He looked at her silently for a while, then...

"Granger, I could not help noticing your shoes... They are training shoes, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are not that elegant, and probably you would find them unfashionable, but they are comfortable Muggle training shoes."

"Well, they are fashionable, indeed. At least... in the Muggle World..."

"Well, in a certain way, they are in fashion, ok... and then?"

"And these so comfortable Muggle shoes are produced... where? In another Muggle country, I heard.... And how much did they pay these... shoe-makers? Do they get more than average cost-of-living for that country? Or, perhaps they get less, if they're women?

And how old are these... Muggle not domestic non-Elves? How do you call them by the way?"

She blushed bashfully.

He smirked "The difference is that your Elves do not live under your own roof..."

A minute passed.

He went back observing her, and noticing she was still embarrassed, with no hurry, he stroked her hair. "What I said doesn't matter at all, and I know it. Really."

Of course he didn't say 'I'm sorry'.

Of course she didn't say 'Sometimes I'm wrong".

But miracles don't happen so easily.

He took her back in his arms and slowly kissed her again.

A few minutes later....

"Granger, giant squirrel of the libraries, in a while this castle will be full of rumour-mongers, sticking their nose in others' business...Go back to your den to think..."

"About what?" she replied suddenly ruffled and suspicious.

"About landscapes," he answered laughing, and smoothly pulled her towards the staircase

To be continued

Next Chapter: **Paper Cut Blues   
(No Trust, Darling, between You and Me)**

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I want to thank those who reviewed this chapter: **Hermione** **Malfoy**, **O**.**o** , **Jenna L**, **natasha**, **lizmcd**.

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sanna: I am glad you found Draco realistic… I wanted him as more realistic as possible. Well possible for me of course.

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Star: thank you ! You wrote a nice review. Anyway, this is a pro Hermione fiction, but it does not mean it will be an against Harry and Ron fic ;P

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Rini: thank you too. Only one thing… hmm I do not know if Draco could ever be a sweetie … hehehe

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Lily **Vance**: thanks, both for this review and for the one at Fictionalley.org!

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Giliath: well, Giliath, as Michelle Ravel, did not read the fic on her own will, but she was asked by me… I had the impression she never got past chapter 1, but she was so kind to do me a review, and I really must thank her. Actually quite no one from SugarQuill ever read my story. And there are only 2 sugarquillers who went further than chapter 1 (Paleologus and JK, aka Ashavah)… So probably this story makes a Ron-Hermione shipper quiver …

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Sweet **Audrina**: thanks!

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E. **Shirin**: Thank you! Yes, I am trying to give Draco a quite defined personality… Of course it will mean OOC. 

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Nuada: hmm, yes, in next chapters she is a bit less scrubby, ok! But in real life you do not change abruptly… 

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Textualsphinx: unluckily the review was "cut", so I will never know what you thought about good girls and good boys. Probably something I would not have liked… I am sorry you do not like Hermione to be the dim partner. But this fiction gives a lot of room to Draco. More than to Hermione, unluckily. The reason is that Hermione should listen… Anyway, yes Draco speaks a lot, but, actually Draco speaks of Hermione, the way he sees her. So, yes Draco has the words, but Hermione has the whole attention. You can see her, "inside". And you have a partial view of her, "outside".

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Lily **Shouk**: thanks!

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AngelicGirl: thank you a lot! On your favourite lists? Wow… you make me blush…

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JK: JK, aka Ashavah: a Sugarquiller who trespassed chapter 1! I really have to thank her. She also tried to explain me the reason why a Ron/Hermione shipper would feel disturbed by the beginning of this fic: it would be too predictable as happy ending. And Ron/Hermione shippers really dislike this other pairing…   
Thank you, because you read all the chapters, and reviewed them all !


	5. III Saturday Paper Cut Blues

DISCLAIMER:  
  
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended THANKS  
  
To the reviewers, of course: Ms Netizen for the first version of this chapter and thecurmudgeons, met on the FAWA, without whose help this final version would have stayed in a file on a floppy. CHAPTER SUMMARY:  
  
A boy is late, a girl thinks too much.  
  
A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION Chapter 5 - Third Week - Saturday  
  
Paper Cut Blues  
(A good tradition of love and hate near the fireplace)  
  
I don't want to play in your yard,  
  
I don't like you anymore.  
  
You'll be sorry when you see me  
  
Sliding down our cellar door.  
  
You can't holler down our rain barrel,  
  
You can't climb our apple tree,  
  
I don't want to play in your yard,  
  
If you won't be good to me.  
  
-:-  
  
Tu lascerai ogne cosa diletta  
  
più caramente; e questo è quello strale  
  
che l'arco de lo essilio pria saetta  
  
Tu proverai si come sa di sale  
  
Lo pane altrui, e com' è duro calle  
  
Lo scendere e'l salir per l'altrui scale.  
Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)  
  
Thou shalt abandon everything beloved  
  
Most tenderly, and this the arrow is  
  
Which first the bow of banishment shoots forth.  
Thou shalt know by experience how savoureth of salt  
Is the other people's bread,  
and how hard a road is to climb and descend another's stairs  
. Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)  
  
  
  
Hermione lifted the box containing the SPEW badges out of her trunk and placed them beside her on the bed. What was she to do with them?  
  
During that week she had done that same gesture more than once, never finding the right answer, despite it was a well known matter of fact that knowing the right answer was her speciality.  
  
The most appealing solution was throwing all the badges against the wall, but not simply "throwing". Oh no, she had no intention to see them bounce back and pile up on the floor. Without order. Without a goal.  
  
They had already bounced back on Harry and Ron a couple years ago, metaphorically speaking. The boys had been such a wonderful Secretary and such an amazing Treasurer of SPEW, she thought half nostalgically and half ironically, running the slightly tarnished badges through her fingers.  
  
Maybe if two years ago she had given them the shape of a snitch, and the Gryffindor colours... well maybe a lot of those adoring little girls, so interested in the Quidditch team.Oh yes - a flash of Malfoy's smirk flickered through her mind and quickly disappeared - the Quidditch groupies would have prayed for those buttons, and pinned them on their collars, without even asking her what "S.P.E.W." stood for. Hermione's lip curled in disdain.  
  
In the soft morning light, Hermione's hands traced a pattern on the wall of her room, sensing the rough surface. It was rock, solid rock, that had resisted invasions for centuries. What she would have really liked was to drive the SPEW badges, one by one, into the rocky walls of her bedroom. Oh yes, she would have liked to hammer them in the stones, without breaking them, as manifest proof that some heads were thicker than the rock. Thicker than that Hogwarts rock.  
  
What was the best symbol she could draw with all those badges? Some of the images popping into her brain made her smile, especially a couple of drawings that would not suit her at all. Parvati and Lavender probably would have had a fit - maybe McGonagall too... maybe.  
  
However, it was only the Parvatis, the Lavenders, the Rons, and the Harrys, probably, who had the power to change things.  
  
Malfoy was right about this: the problem of House Elves wasn't at all a problem due to the privileged few. For a Malfoy, Elves were only a curiosity, something you had in the family, but in reality easily disposable. For the Malfoys class, the Elves didn't make a difference in their lifestyle.  
  
The real problem was the people like Ron, the good people, the gentle guys, who wanted, no expected, to be looked after at school, but never asked who was paying the price for all that beautiful comfort. They took everything, the comfort, the fun, the elegance, the great food at the boarding school, everything special in Hogwarts, for granted.  
  
Hermione looked around her room, at the four-poster beds and the comfortable fire in the grate. She hadn't asked herself that question either, till the fourth year, till Winky and Bartemius Crouch, till when the Trio had discovered Dobby working in the Hogwart Kitchen.  
  
If the situation of Elves was different, oh well, many "tiny details" would change at school. It wouldn't be so comfortable anymore. Or, perhaps, it would change into a too expensive school, not open for everybody. Open to the Malfoys, of course, but to the Ron Weasleys? Or to herself? Or maybe she was too tragic?  
  
She felt sorry she didn't know so many things about this world.  
  
But - yes, there was always a 'but' - there was one thing Malfoy couldn't fully understand... or pretended not to know. (He was not that dumb. She would bet on it with the usual gang of goblins, and maybe, just maybe, she'd win.) Well, the damned point wasn't at all the madness of pretending to decide for other Creatures what was right and what was wrong!  
  
She blushed in the dark of that Saturday morning, which would not start properly. Malfoy's words had hurt . Not a pain like a blow. Not a pain as when she quarreled with the boys, she thought, sucking the tip of her thumb mindlessly. It was more like a pain she knew very well: a paper cut in your skin. It hurts, but you can't say exactly where. There is a cut, but you can't see it bleed. It isn't a major problem, but somewhere there is an ache and it won't stop bugging you.  
  
To hell with Malfoy, that damned Slytherin!  
  
Anyway, what Malfoy appeared unable to fully understand was what she had seen in Winky's woebegone face, in the school Kitchens. For one single Dobby, happy to be free, how many Winkies were there? Winky wasn't able to imagine a different life, different from the one she had right in front of her eyes.  
  
For Winky, the moment Bartemius Crouch had given her freedom had been the end of the world as she knew it. She had become completely worthless. It isn't sufficient to tell a person, "You are free" to free her, really. Crouch knew it; otherwise he would not have punished his Elf by giving her freedom. As Crouch knew it very well, a lot of other people had to know it!  
  
Winky didn't want to be different from the Winky she had always been. Winky was unable to understand that the way they were treating her was not right at all. Winky wasn't stupid. A good life, with the warm food, the master who loves you in his own peculiar way, the little brawls, and your usual seat near the hearth, that consciousness that there was a place belonging to her which no thief could ever steal..Oh yes, that whole bunch of things was comfortable, and warm, and homey, and was nothing to be taken for granted, or to undervalue. But Winky had not understood that respect is something different, something worth just as much.  
  
At least... sometimes.  
  
Without warning a sudden picture of Scabbers and Crookshanks rushed through her mind. In a flash, she remembered the end of her third year. Harry, Ron and she had discovered that Scabbers in reality was Wormtail in disguise, that Sirius Black was innocent, and that Wormtail, that horrid rat, had been the true traitor - and what a traitor! They had discovered too that Crookshanks had not eaten Scabbers, Ron's pet, as the boys had assumed for months.  
  
That day Hermione had run into Ron's arms, and burst out crying, because they had reconciled - the two boys were speaking to her again.  
  
They were again the dream team. She was back at home.  
  
Suddenly she felt a gloomy sensation right under her heart, but she couldn't understand why.  
  
She woke up completely and silently moved to the Common Room.  
  
It was colder over there, without the fire that warmed the bedrooms. She snuggled into an armchair, wrapping her arms around her legs, and resting her chin oh her knees. Crookshanks leapt up to squeeze in next to her, and they sat together, watching a fire that wasn't there, but in their minds.  
  
It was Saturday morning and she felt it was not right to wake up her friends. What would she say to them? Chat about Winky, covered with a tablecloth by the other House Elves because they couldn't stand the sight of her misery? Or perhaps they could chat about something that happened once upon a time, when she had apologised for something she hadn't done, and how she had been relieved to obtain forgiveness instead of asking for an apology in return? Or perhaps they could examine together why it took her two years to understand that, at that time, not everything had been completely right?  
  
The cat was purring, and the girl coddled him, slowly scratching behind his ears. Old friends take care of each other.  
  
Soon an Elf would come and light up the fire in the fireplace, so that the Gryffindor boys and girls would be warm and comfortable on Saturday morning.  
  
Elves were not slaves, no. Probably the whole matter did not start that way. Their situation reminded her of the Muggle Middle Ages. Then, the castle was a self-sufficient structure, where everybody belonged to the community and worked for the survival of the community itself. Of course, community survival implied individual survival.  
  
Well actually, Hogwarts was also "the Castle". Maybe there was a time when Elves, Wizards and Muggles (yes, Muggles, why not?) worked for the castle. A long time ago "choice" was foreign: a privilege and a burden for a select few. Most people did not bear that burden, had been born to their path in life.  
  
But now, choice was more than a possibility... and the world was flowing around the Elves, and House-Elves were staying steady, clinging to the past, to a choice, or rather a "non-choice" that had once been crucial, but now was probably superfluous.  
  
Hermione ran her hand over Crookshanks' soft fur. and then... she had heard everybody speak about the House-Elves... but where were the "non House" Elves?  
  
She moved in an angry gesture; Crookshanks looked at her, startled.  
  
The Hogwarts Library was mostly about Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the only class about history they could take was 'History of Magic'. It was not at all the same as having a 'History of Wizard Society', or 'History of British Wizarding World Thought'.  
  
The hungry steps of the boys running down for breakfast interrupted her thoughts. A new Saturday had begun. ........................................................................  
  
Some hours later, after lunch, she was lying in her bed, shrouded in thought. Well, the important matter she was really so deeply interested in was the ink spots. She chuckled at herself. It bothered her a lot to rub her fingertips with the right solvents. It was like admitting she didn't want to appear a bookworm. Or, even worse, that she didn't care to appear like a bookworm on this particular Saturday.  
  
She didn't want to give an exceptional importance to Malfoy's approval.  
  
'Oh yes! Now I rub my fingers. And then, what else? I could also beg Lavender for lip-gloss... why not? We could spend hours chatting about the right shade for my skin... It's nauseating. I can't imagine anything worse! Hmm, no, I have it: tons of Sleakeazy in my hair, of course! No, no, no and NO! I am not going to change myself into a make-up addict for a stinking date!'  
  
She smiled to herself.  
  
'Oh yes! I might go to the Astronomy Tower stinking... covered with food stains and with greasy hair!', she could not help smiling, 'Alright, I don't want to change myself in order to please a boy, but neither do I want to be a disgusting wreckage just to state my point of view. And, let's face it, Malfoy isn't that bad when Saturday comes... And this ...thing...'- she blushed furiously - 'this odd date between Malfoy and me. it isn't a lot of things, but I am sure it's at least a polite 'peers' matter..'  
  
She sighed, and with an "Accio!" fetched a small glass phial. "I am not that bad, either." ........................................................................  
  
This year had started oddly, and was oddly flowing on.  
  
She arrived at the Library in haste: she had gotten lost bickering with herself, as usual.  
  
She got to her usual window, but when she leaned out to wave at the boys, she discovered the carriages had gone. She had reached her spot just a little too late.  
  
Hermione felt slightly sorry, but her mind was running forward to that afternoon in anticipation ........................................................................ An hour later...  
  
She was alone in the Library. Waiting.  
  
Well, when they parted last Saturday, they had not said anything each other. She smiled dryly. To tell the truth, they had told each other many things, but nothing about their plans for this Saturday.  
  
Maybe he was waiting for her at the Astronomy Tower? Well, she had assumed they would meet each other here at the Library, as usual. Usual?  
  
Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe she had assumed this affair was going be a four Saturday affair, and instead it was meant to last only for one single Saturday. Last Saturday to be utterly precise.  
  
Many emotions flickered through her brain.  
  
Firstly of course, the relief over not being late. She was always on time for appointments, and she really didn't like to be late. Ever.  
  
Then there was the pleasure of waiting. Yes, the pleasure. She tilted her chin defensively. She had remembered what had happened the last time, and it had been a pleasure: exactly what she was going for, waiting, savouring and recalling her own unused emotions.  
  
The quietness.  
  
The annoyance - 'When that Slytherin trash comes, I am going to tell him a thing or two. This isn't a behaviour I am going to accept from him!'  
  
The fear - 'Maybe something happened... What if Filch was punishing Malfoy right now? But why? Today's Saturday and it's not late, you can go wherever you wish.'  
  
The worst - he had simply forgotten her.  
  
'No, no, no!' she thought 'He was simply kidding me, and now he is somewhere else, telling everything to his damned Slytherin friends. Oh yes! I can just imagine his mocking expression as he talks about the stupid little Gryffindor girl who is waiting for him at the Library - a stupid girl who was so vain that she assumed he was going to spend another afternoon with her...' She tightened her fists: 'Tomorrow this whole arrogant school will laugh... about the pathetic bookworm, first in school life, last in personal life... Stupid Hermione. Stupid, dumb, silly, miserable Hermione.'  
  
"I apologise... I am late," he said, his voice regretful. .Draco was in black, as usual, his blond hair slicked back, his expression hard to read. Elegant and cold, as usual, so silent he was able to pop up like a ghost.  
  
She dropped her eyes: "It doesn't matter." Her mind shrieked: 'I am indifferent! I am indifferent'  
  
"Really?" - he was teasing her, his ironic smile back in his eyes. "I was sure I would have found you here, wrathful. Ready to give me a lesson about polite manners and civilised behaviour... You know, the usual things about filthy Slytherin scum being late, and so on."  
  
"I don't get angry over worthless details."  
  
Hermione tossed her brown curls back from her face angrily.  
  
"Oh, yes, you are the sweet mum of the Gryffindor puppies... I keep forgetting about your angelic personality... by the way do you have the slightest idea why I keep forgetting..." Draco moved closer, pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs, still smiling.  
  
She interrupted him briskly: "Stop this nonsense. I've had enough."  
  
"What's wrong, Prefect Granger?" he was clearly annoyed.  
  
She looked suddenly at him stubbornly and slowly retorted with an icy voice, "Very well, Mr-I-Know-Everything-Malfoy. I admit it. You are right, I thought it. I sat here thinking that you are a Slytherin scum. And since filthy Slytherin scum are too clever to get detention easily, I assumed you had no detention at all. Last Saturday you were kidding me, just to humiliate me. This Saturday I thought you were somewhere at Hogsmeade with your filthy little friends, laughing at me.  
  
"I went further than that. I imagined that you were making this 'you-and-I' private matter a Slytherin-Gryffindor public affair. That you were finding the whole occurrence irresistibly funny so that you could not help telling every little detail to some friends of mine. I had a mental picture of you, sharing the best details of your last experience with an ugly duck.  
  
"And that you were explaining to everyone how deeply pathetic and dumb I was, exchanging kisses with you at the Tower. And all this because I had no one who actually wished my company at Hogsmeade, on Saturday." She finished belligerently. 'I said it,' she thought, 'I fired all the bullets. The mines exploded... Try to hurt me if you can, now!'  
  
"For the sake of the Parselmouth!" Draco hissed, bending forward a little.  
  
"Eh?"  
  
Draco seemed to recollect himself. For once his coldness had disappeared and he had appeared sincerely startled.  
  
The smile returned to his lips. "What sweet thoughts," he smirked. "You are dangerous. Moreover, you are distrustful. And you like hurting yourself." He examined her face attentively "And you are a Gryffindor! Are you crazy? What you have imagined is ghastly. Frankly I fail to understand you."  
  
"Listen," he added slowly and seriously, "I am not fond of all that Gryffindor bullshit - all that chivalry and brotherhood crap - but it doesn't mean I don't have a moral code at all."  
  
Malfoy leaned forward to grab her wrist, "And I want to make that very clear to you, Granger."  
  
"Please, Malfoy, I..." He was gripping her wrist so tightly that it hurt.  
  
"No, Gryffindor lass, I want it understood clearly. These Saturdays are something only between you and me. Independent from both Slytherin and Gryffindor scum. Independent from your spoiled clique. Independent from Potty Baby or Weasel Boy."  
  
Malfoy's fingers bit into her wrist, "These Saturdays will end, with no harm, next Saturday. I hope we agree about the lack of harm: I don't consider your co-operation to the success of these days optional. The goal of our peculiar Saturdays is making these beautiful September days, sliding to October, pleasant. Nothing more. I don't need a weapon particularly sordid to hit the people I don't like. Frankly I have noticed that most people are very good at hurting themselves in the most sickening ways. Their minds are their own worst hell. And I don't crave power over naïve Gryffindor squirrels, with ugly duck complexes."  
  
She blushed and bit her lip. "Let go. It hurts," she said.  
  
"Oh, poor little squirrel. It hurts. Much better: if it hurts, you won't forget." Draco Malfoy didn't let go of her wrist and kept looking into her eyes, seriously.  
  
"Alright, I understand you. I trust you about this Malfoy."  
  
"Alright. And to be sincere, as sincere as I can be, I was not late to keep you on tenterhooks. I don't want to play tricks to your rational mind. Snape kept me till late. Otherwise you would have found me here, waiting for you. When I give my word I keep it." His eyebrows rose in query, "Better?"  
  
"Better."  
  
They both relaxed. He released her wrist, rose from the chair and took her arm, "Then let's go."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Where there is a wonderful view you could talk about for hours..." Draco said, mockingly.  
  
THANKS  
  
Of course to the reviewers: Reema, sitashi, Hermione Malfoy, Ophelia, princess of mordor, cammie , verlidaine weriynsri, Ya-chan, Nuada, JK Meriadoc, one of the kindest reviewers I ever met! I am so glad you like my story. Jen, who read my other stories and enjoyed them as well. Kagome-sama, another Italian writer! Grazie! 


	6. III Saturday Some things apparently wor...

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TITLE: A Four Saturdays Detention (6/?)

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AUTHOR NAME: smoke

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AUTHOR EMAIL: tiziana_spano@yahoo.it

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CATEGORY : Romance 

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KEYWORDS: Hermione Granger Draco Malfoy

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SPOILERS: _All The Books/All Four Books_

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RATING: PG 13 

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CHAPTER SUMMARY: _A girl and a boy have fun together, but, maybe, they should learn the language of the other one, and his and her life rules._

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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

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THANKS:   
THE BETAS

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PERSONAL NOTE: I hope you will enjoy this story.

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A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

Chapter 6 - Third Saturday

Some Things Apparently Worse than Death

(Leave me breathless)

__

el màs pròdigo amor le fue otorgado  
el amor que no espera ser amado.

The most plentiful love was awarded  
The love not longing to be loved.

They left the Library, budging cautiously.  
They wanted to dodge Filch, of course, but the unease, as well: this time both the students were eager to erase the former explosion, but ... how?

Actually, Hermione was glad. Blurting out what she had thought hadn't really left her ashamed. If she might have had to look for the right word, probably she would have chosen "relieved".

She stole a glance to Malfoy, but he was scrutinising the dark corridor.  
Surely he was a good punch bag. Probably he had to, after the so many times her friends and herself had defeated him, in their childhood.  
She smiled maliciously in the dark.

After some steps, both spotted Filch's growls coming to their direction.

"Oh no!"

Draco bounced, quick and silent, and grabbed Hermione, trying to pull her into a wide room. But she opposed, instinctively. She was scared.

Oh yes, the Basilisk had scared her to death. Well, quite to death. It had happened during her second year at Hogwarts, and only dumb people don't know what the fear is.   
But she had moved on rationally, to face him: a simple mirror and she had bargained Death with Petrification.   
It was an acceptable risk: Professor Sprout knew how to handle Mandrakes.   
And Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape (yes either him, the elitist old bat) and Headmaster Dumbledore, would have done their best to bring back all the affected students. They knew their job.  
And all her rationality, and detecting ability, well, of course they couldn't beat the Basilisk, but, sure, they could give time to everybody. Time and chance to find a good solution.

And Fluffy? Oh Fluffy could really scare you, but, at the end? What was this terrible menace? Three heads, some fangs... Just brutal strength, no brain.

But Filch? Oh my! Filch! That little man, that shadow of a wizard, even a squib, maybe... Filch was the School Authority. A much worse nightmare.

It took her a hesitation glimpse. He was pulling her, and she was trying to make out what to do.  
A glimpse.  
A glimpse is enough to unbalance a little witch.  
A glimpse is enough for a crash on a floor.  
Noisy? Maybe not so noisy... Well, let's not start believing into chimeras, thanks.   
Very noisy.  
A glimpse is either enough to drag with you a not so little wizard.

And, after a glimpse, Mrs Norris was staring at them, with commiseration, her enormous yellow eyes maliciously widened. They could hear Filch panting towards them.

Hermione dropped her glance in scorn. Now Malfoy would have teased her with his usual sarcasm. Ok, this time she deserved his words, whatever they might be.

"Did you get hurt?" he whispered.

She looked at him, surprised, "No."

He sneered at her startled glance, "Better, I want to have the privilege to harm you, with my own hands."

"Very, very, very well... I see two students ready for a punishment..."

"Where exactly do you see them, Mr Filch?"

Hermione simply stared at Filch and Malfoy.  
She had not the slightest intention to run after their rambling speeches.  
Nothing she could ever tell could avoid the worst consequences. An honestly deserved punishment, a whole bunch of embarrassing explanation, very embarrassing.  
The disaster was rambling freely now.

McGonagall, probably, would have felt horridly disappointed (oh yes, her own "I-do-not-want-to-end-this-way", or "I-want-to-taste-something-different" , they didn't appear, suddenly so proper. Now, having to choose between trasfigurating matches into needles for the rest of her life, or being expelled... well she knew perfectly she would like the most).

Ron, oh well, Ron probably would have said something sarcastic and witty. Fraternising with the enemy was dated now, an abused sentence of their fourth year. Now he had gained life experience, and surely a bunch of new interesting verbs. A tartwitch?  
Bah! She would have known it soon. Or she would have tasted again the silence treatment.

As to Harry... Well Harry was kept. He would have probably just looked at her in disbelief.   
She brought her hands to the mouth. Oh no! A sudden thought stabbed her with unexpected violence: Draco Malfoy was simply a Hogwarts student, just an annoying Slytherin cad. For her he was only the one who called her "Mudblood", nothing less, but nothing more as well.

But Lucius Malfoy, the student's father, belonged to the inner circle of Voldemort's Death Eaters. As far as she knew, Lucius might have been one of those intimate fellows who planned the details of Voldemort's visit to Godric Hollow, that day Harry's mother died and he was gifted the lightning scar.  
She felt her stomach contract.  
No, facing Harry wouldn't be that easy.

Well, the only thing that, probably, would make her smile, could be Mrs Weasley and her Scarlet Women.  
Smile?   
Her stomach had a new jump.

No, she couldn't smile, neither for the sake of her life.

Had she forgotten anything?  
Oh yes... her roommates' whispered gossips, and those of their gang of nail-files junkies. In the whole a gang of brain beggars, eagerly craving a renewed discovery of moral rigour.  
Their discovery, of course, and her moral, obviously.  
Well, she didn't care about them; she could easily handle their crawling gossips.   
With time.  
Lot of time.

She sighed and leaned against the wall, ready to endure everything stoically. Even the simple invention of an excuse (and what excuse then?) made her sick.

She looked back to Malfoy and Filch. What were they talking about? She had lost half of the conversation, she had spotted only the words "torture", "chains", "thumbs". A classical Filch style speech, of course, what else?

Draco was standing against the rocky, with his usual lazy attitude. "So, Mr Filch, you are charging me and the... Mudblood, of what? What exactly?"

Well he was doubtless elegant, even during a shipwreck. Hermione looked at him closely, he was a lot of nasty things, but she had to acknowledge him his aplomb.   
More, she was observing his lifted eyebrows and lack of distress: Malfoy had a cosmic shamelessness.

"The questions are up to me, Mr Malfoy. What were you doing in the corridors? Exactly I mean."

Draco sneered with an exasperated glance. "Very well, I am going to be utterly sincere. I had the wish to bring her with me to the Astronomy Tower. Obviously. A good place for a witch and a wizard wishing to share intimacy, believe me, but she opposed... she isn't so ready to make up her mind, and I was trying to push her a bit."

Hermione blushed furiously "What are you saying?" then she covered her mouth. Silence was better than everything.

Filch took Hermione's arm and stared her attentively.  
"I do not buy this seductive date of yours, Mr Malfoy. And Miss Granger doesn't look so eager to wander to any Tower with you."

"Because she doesn't know what she is missing."

Hermione suddenly started giggling. The whole situation was simply ridiculous, what was she charged of? What was she guilty of? What exactly?

Let's look at the facts. Well the blatant facts: she had only fall down on the floor, and it was Saturday afternoon.  
She had the holy right to fell down on every single rock of this damned school floor, in any bloody school corridor, if she wished it.

About her intentions. First, if every girl who had kissed a boy had to be expelled, this school would have lost quite half of the students. And the other half were the boys, who had to be expelled too, can you hear me, sexist HeadMaster?  
Secondly, but not less important, her intentions were only up to her. She blushed.

All right, let's stick to the facts, and nothing more, anyway. And, let's try with cosmic shamelessness as well.

She tilted her chin and took her usual expression of when she knew the right answer to a question.

Filch looked at her suspiciously.

"Mr Filch, I simply fall on the floor. Anyway it is Saturday afternoon, and it is a decent hour, I dare say, to take a walk through the corridors.  
Right in this moment I could be in Hogsmeade, having fun in more than one silly way, but I usually prefer to spend my time, here at the Castle, doing something more useful. Till now I was in the Library, where I spend most of my spare time; and now I was leaving the Library, using this corridor, the same corridor I happen to use more than once day by day.   
And I can't remember being questioned about my right of trampling on this old floor," the usual Top Of The Class superciliousness was permeating every single word of hers. "I have to assume I must ask for a special permission every time I wish to leave the Library? And to whom must I submit my requests?"

Filch seemed ready to explode, but something was retaining him. The girl was not completely wrong, and she was not acting as a trapped guilty little pet.

Draco interposed, and, respectfully added: "Hissing Parseltongue... Granger looks more and more like Professor McGonagall... Mr Filch, it is just Saturday afternoon. She was leaving the Library, I was in the corridor. And we fall down. Nothing more. I don't wish to do anything forbidden with McGonagall's pet."

Filch thought for a while.

Was it the hauteur of the little witch?  
Was it a flash of this same witch, far in the future, like Professor Granger? Or, either, HeadMistress Granger?  
Was it the secure laziness of Malfoy?  
Maybe it was just the thought that the school was full of easier preys to catch?   
Anyway, he let go of the two students.

Hermione headed to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Draco to the Library.

After a couple of corridors corners, she felt a hand grazing her arm.

"I saw you so Gryffindor, so icing... There must be frost on your tongue." He was teasing her, as usual.

"And I saw you very Slytherin, and very... sincere. A twisted truth anyway."

Both burst out laughing, and took a lateral corridor.

They were unconsciously hurrying.

Draco's legs were longer, of course (it wasn't too difficult, anyway). Inevitably they started running. A game.  
They climbed hastily the steps to the Astronomy Tower.  
He was faster, of course, but she had fun thwarting him, not letting him surpass her.  
And when he succeeded overrunning her, he waited to let her try again to cut in.

The staircase was small, it was mostly a game of springs, and feints, sudden crashes and casual strokes.

On the last steps, Hermione was able to pass Draco, she flung off with a triumphant cry, but he grabbed her waist, and they slithered on the shabby floor, together, laughing.

"I was first!"

"I don't think so."

"Slytherin cheater!"

"I didn't break any rule."

"Of course you didn't: we didn't state any."

"You came to the heart of the matter... if you were eager of rules, you had to state them clearly."

Hermione shook her head, but didn't stop laughing. "I am breathless!"

"It takes so little to leave you breathless, Granger?"

He hurled her the pillows. The room was cold: October was near, it had kept raining all day long and yes, you could feel it easily.   
The girl was lightly shivering. The rain was still falling down, impossible to enjoy the view: everything was fuzzy and distorted, like being short-sighted.

Draco sat quietly near her.

Hermione, suddenly felt mischievous and glared him upwards: "And you? What does it take to make you feel breathless, Malfoy?"

He smiled to her, amused "I have to worry?"

"No, you shouldn't. You stated so clearly you wouldn't do anything forbidden with MacGonagall's pet."

"Maybe my definition of forbidden isn't the same as yours. Surely it isn't the same as old chap Argus'"

But now she wanted to lead the play.  
She started caressing his face.   
He let her do. His breath, however, was quite imperceptibly faster. Quite.

Amused by this change in their roles, she gently kissed his neck, hesitantly.  
Her lips traced a tortuous path to his shoulders, just where his muscles jointed. She felt him hold his breath.  
Draco's hands slowly went up her back.  
When he had completely enveloped the girl, gently pressed her to his chest.

She sighed.  
Draco let himself lay down on the pillows, bringing the girl with him.

Now she was cuddled on him. Her hair on her shoulders, like a strange curtain cloaked her. It was caressing her face. It was caressing his face.  
She smiled out of pleasure. She could feel his arms wrapping her, his hands had reached her shoulders. Warmth was irradiating from his body to hers, through the thick tissue of her uniform, and through all the different layers of tissue she was used to wear. She really enjoyed the feeling of being sheltered.

His right hand was fondling her neck, his fingers rhythmically sinking into her hair.  
Beautiful. She would have liked to stay this way, for hours. Now she could really understand Crookshanks and his purrs. Really.  
He murmured her something, but she wasn't listening to.

She felt his fingers follow, slowly, so slowly, the track of the sinews of her neck.  
Instinctively she moved to ease him to please her, arching her back.

He talked to her again. A question? But she couldn't really listen to his words, trying to follow his reasoning. She didn't want to reflect on anything. She wasn't there for meaningless chit-chat, this thought somehow popped into her brain, making her smile.  
She leaned her hands on his chest, and her chin on her hands. And staid there quietly while he was squeezing and rubbing her, like she was a cat, or another family pet.

She felt him lift her chin with his fingers. Their eyes met for a while, she noticed Draco knitting his brows.  
She dropped her eyes and kissed his throat, feeling ashamed to use her tongue so freely. Yet, somehow, she was too curious to taste his skin.   
She felt him laughing silently.

Suddenly they rolled on the pillows. Now she was under him, surrounded. She was sinking into the cushions, and he was on her. But his weight was not crushing her. With her hands she caressed his hair, unsure. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, his mouth was following the line of her jaw, his hands... his hands?  
Suddenly she felt scared.

She stiffened and tried to push him away.

Her hands fought suddenly against his chest, but he was heavy. Until now she hadn't been aware of how taller he was, how stronger too, maybe.   
Surely.

Hermione felt herself panicking, and fought to take a breath. 

To be continued

Next Chapter: **An eternity of an impossible tragic escape   
(Am I beautiful for you?)**


	7. III Saturday An eternity of an impossib...

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TITLE: A Four Saturdays Detention (6/?)

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AUTHOR NAME: smoke

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AUTHOR EMAIL: tiziana_spano@yahoo.it

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CATEGORY : Romance 

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KEYWORDS: Hermione Granger Draco Malfoy

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SPOILERS: _All The Books/All Four Books_

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RATING: PG 13 

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CHAPTER SUMMARY: _A girl ponders whether she is beautiful. A boy fails to understand what she means._

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DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

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THANKS:   
THE BETAS

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PERSONAL NOTE: I hope you will enjoy this story.

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A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

Chapter 7 - Third Saturday

An Eternity of an Impossible Tragic Escape

(Am I beautiful?)

_

    Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle,  
e questa siepe, che da tanta parte  
dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.  
Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati  
spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani  
silenzi, e profondissima quiete  
io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco  
il cor non si spaura. E come il vento  
odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello  
infinito silenzio a questa voce  
vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno,  
e le morte stagioni, e la presente  
e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa  
immensità s'annega il pensier mio:  
e il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.
_

Giacomo Leopardi, L'infinito - 1819

    Always dear was to me this solitary hill,  
and this hedgerow, closing out my view  
from the greatest part of the ultimate horizon.  
Yet sitting and gazing I shape in my mind  
boundless spaces beyond, and unearthly  
silences, and deepest quiet, where barely  
the heart fails to terrify. And as soon as I hear  
the wind rustling between the leaves, I begin  
to compare that infinite silence  
to its voice: and the eternal occurs to me,  
and the dead seasons, and the present  
and alive one, and its sound. So into  
this immensity my thought drowns:  
and to shipwreck is sweet in such a sea.

Giacomo Leopardi, The Infinite - 1819

(in my language we say "traduttore traditore" = "translator traitor")

  
She had simply freaked out. Panicking, she clawed his flesh, her nails trying to harm him. Her voice was not obeying her anymore, only some gasps passed her lips.  
Her brain was working at light speed, these three Saturdays dazzling in a bursting row.  
An ingenuous, even dumb, yes dumb, Muggleborn, alone in the Astronomy Tower with a Death-Eater-to-be, even worse, a Death-Eater-wanna-be... and an indecent proposal, (proposal or proposition? But who really cared now?) clearly stated at the very first beginning, dancing in the middle. What had she got herself into?

He let go of her abruptly, his body still pinning hers on the cushions; her own weight was somehow trapping them both.  
His delicate fingers brushed away her hair from her forehead, hesitant: "I imagine I have to take this as a 'halt yourself'..." he was observing the girl, on alert, his thumb slowly stroking the curve between her eyebrows. She registered his voice was kind of cracked.

She nodded her head, her eyes widened. Hyperventilating. She felt terrorised, and all that she wanted was to feel free.

Draco rolled slowly on his side, taking her along with him, in the smooth movement: now they were both simply lying one near the other one.  
Her first move was trying to flee, but he held her "Don't run away, just stay here, trying to be a peaceful girl"

Hermione looked for his gaze, tense, but he was not looking at her, his face was turned on the other side.  
Cautiously she came closer, still ruffled, without grazing him. She heard him sigh.

He let her hand go, lying quietly, a limp body. No part of his body was brushing against her, only his hand was slowing toying with one of Hermione's locks, twirling it around his finger.

Gradually Hermione relaxed. When her breath was regular again, he asked gently: "Better now?"  
She nodded shyly. She would have liked to see his expression, but Malfoy still was not looking at her.

"I am able to accept a no as possible answer... Were you afraid of hurting my sensitivity?". Irony.

"I was not listening to you." 'Too quick, Hermione, too quick'

"It is always a pleasure to perceive the deep consideration you have for my words," Sarcasm, now. Of course. What else?

She slowly shook her head, "I was ... I was ... scared."

"I had vaguely noticed something like that." Coldness.

She blushed, "I... I don't know exactly what I suddenly was thinking of." Thinking... oh yes, she knew exactly what she had been thinking of, but just the simple tentative of an explanation was horridly embarrassing. 

"Oh, you have no clue about your heinous thoughts?" Completely detached.

After a jarring silence, Draco went back looking at her, a shadow of a smile in the corner of his lips: "Screwing a wild cat, or a scared mouse doesn't appeal me as a tempting experience. I do not long particularly such emotion."

She reddened again and looked away, but she could hear him clearly whisper "Victorian violet".

She moved. Quite offended. Quite. Oh sure, she had the holy right to say a "no", whenever, and to whoever. And Malfoy had the holy duty to accept it.   
She had always thought this way. The trouble was that knowing to have a right, and using that right instinctively, not always walked together.

She shivered: another time this same thought. The breach between her rational thoughts and her everyday life was bugging her.   
She tried to focus back to the motor of this whole matter.  
She would have had to simply say that no, and wait for his reaction, in case, to freak out.  
And now, she would have liked to use Malfoy as a punch bag, but, well, he had not that duty. She had not that right.  
It was a trouble sometimes being rational and honest.

Unease. 

She looked outside to avoid his eyes. Well, his eyes, his questions and her explanations, the whole usual crap between them.   
She looked at the landscape.  
She held her breath... how many things she didn't notice last Saturday!

The Astronomy Tower, was the highest tower of all Hogwarts and you could see in a remarkable way the stars, from that height. She could state it for sure: she had an A plus in Astronomy!

But what she had never noticed was the ground: you could see the intricate pattern of the Forbidden Forest, with all those shades of green.  
A landscape that drowns you in the green and shelters you with the blue.  
She had a smile, sinking in the green of the park, swimming to the green of the hills. But that green, well the hills, their green was an azure, and, more far they were, more bluish they appeared.  
October was near, now, and the light didn't make the things sparkle.  
But it had rained all day long, and the shapes looked more precise, definite.  
You could see outlined the detachment between earth and sky.  
But the sky was not blue, it was grey. Like ice. Like water and steam.

'But why, when we are kids we draw the sky and the earth always with the same colours, when real world has so many shades indeed?'

"It is so beautiful from here. The landscape, I mean." Suddenly she felt shy. Probably, on Malfoy's opinion, this place was simply a very quiet place for kissing, snogging and so on.

His voice was kind-hearted "Yes, it is beautiful. Sometimes the sky makes this whole world a black and white portrait. But after a while the light makes the colours more shiny. Even more than true colours.

And the Forest is a special view. The different stripes of greens creep, wriggle, contort, bend, build themselves in knots. Then, they abruptly change their minds, and look for a new direction, but nothing moves actually: it is an eternity of an impossible tragic escape. And all that wrapping, that getting entangled, the writhing, is the mirror of your thoughts, while you reflect."  
He bite his tongue. He had gifted her more than he wanted.

She went on, quiet, thinking about something she had enjoyed reading, during her solitary summer: "There is a poetry, but I know only the translation...

__

And as soon as I hear  
the wind rustling between the leaves, I begin  
to compare that infinite silence  
to its voice: and the eternal occurs to me,  
and the dead seasons, and the present  
and alive one, and its sound

She halted to breath, not at ease. 'What did I get myself into? Quoting a poetry to a boy, while alone with him? Much worse: to an ex Quidditch player? A Seeker might be comparing with the wind sound only a Golden Snitch flying light speed in front of him! Definitely eager of mockery, Hermione, aren't you?' She shrugged. 'Oh well, he is not a boy, he is just Malfoy. Who really cares about?'  
  
His voice, low, went on: 

__

"… So into  
this immensity my thought drowns:  
and to shipwreck is sweet in such a sea."

Both smiled without looking at each other.

"I wouldn't have had to hold you in my arms, before. I would have had to do what I was really longing for. The urge I had from the very first moment I saw you turning pale, on the corridor floor, and it was clear you had put us into trouble with Filch."

"And what exactly?"

"Tickle you to death."

They laughed together.  
Well, it was not really the funniest sentence of the world, but somehow it brought them back to a warm kind of intimacy.

He sneered: "This Tower, and the view, this is the thing from Hogwarts I will always remember with pleasure, once free from this place. Maybe even with regret. I hope to remember all this ought I travel with beggars or lords"

She looked at him quizzically.

"It is an old proverb."  
He studied her: "But you looked at the view only now, not the last lime. Last Saturday you were only examining your uniform, your hands, and sometimes, you were glancing at me, but the beauty of Nature?... No, I didn't have at all that impression." He was teasing her, without malice.

"Well, my hands, you, even this is Nature," she joked.

"Yes, you are right, I am beautiful."

"Beautiful and humble."

"No, 'modest' doesn't fit me. I am sorry." He was serious; Malfoy pulled one curl of hers.

After a few seconds, Hermione took a big breath: "And I?"

"You what?"

She didn't answer him.

He had a smile "Oh.. you mean beautiful? Do you really care?"

Hermione blushed slightly, but she want on: "So, are you going to answer me, or what?"

Draco: "But I cannot. No one could. And then, what do you mean exactly with "beautiful"? If you mean perfect, a classical beauty, well, you are not silly, and you should spot the right answer on your own, as usual, dear Miss Know-It-All, and it is a "no".   
But, maybe, you were thinking about a more animal style sensation?" Hermione winced, Draco sneered "Ok, let's say the capability to arouse interest, mostly pleasure in someone else..."

"You don't distress me, with your fake lack of good manners!"

"Really?" he looked at her lazily, looking for a while exactly like Crookshanks.

"Not at bit."

"Better this way. Better for you. And much better for me. But I'd like to understand why you bother yourself about beauty. You should inquire, instead, about beautiful for whom? Or to do what?"

"I was simply thinking of an objective answer. Possibly detached."

"But this answer could never be objective... Imagine for a while you were beautiful, yes terribly beautiful, for Crabbe. Imagine his wildest dream, we are making an hypothesis, ok?, don't freak out now, but imagine his forbidden fantasy is taking you in the Quidditch dressing-room? Maybe without your consent. Your being unwilling, perhaps, would make you even more beautiful for him. The forbidden of the forbidden. Someone once told me that ruling is much better than fucking."

"Hey"

"Sorry, I'll try to weigh my words... Anyway, the more you whimper and scream, the more you are scared, the more he finds you appealing...   
You are beautiful, so you automatically arouse him.   
He rubs the right spots, so you obviously like it.   
Flesh mechanics, brain mechanics indeed. So simple... but do you believe in this bullshit?   
Well, would all this madness do something to you? Knowing his craving would make feel satisfied? Happy? ... Beautiful?"

"I'd feel scared to death. And the whole matter would make me want to vomit!"

"I am sorry..."

"You do not have the right to joke about these subjects!"

"All right, madam."

"You do not have to tell me that's ok. What you said is a momentous thing. It is not something not to take seriously. There is nothing intriguing in this.... perverted shit fantasy!"

"Very well. I apologise formally. By the way, the perverted is for the mention of sex imagery or for the lack of consent?"

"Do you need me to answer you?" she looked at him with commiseration.

"I am sorry I might have offended you. Seriously, I had no intention to."

"The intention of mortifying me expressly would simply crown the whole bloody matter!"

"Oh bloody! Wow, and you are the teachers' pet? Listen Granger, I apologised. But the trouble with you is that to make you listen, and try to understand anything not belonging to your prejudices or principles, it takes a hammer blow on that little brainy head of yours. When you have an idea in that thick skull, you do not see anything else, and you run as fast as an arrow!"

"Don't be silly! And then, this I really would like to know, when did you ever happen to talk with me about any subject?"

"You came to the point! I always had the impression a dialogue with you had the subtle charm only a conversation with deaf people might ever possess. And this is another adage, I have no intention to listen to a SPEW speech adapted for hearing impaired people dignity defence "

"Yes, Malfoy, I really came to the point. You too, you never talked with me! Unless you consider a 'Mudblood!' in a school corridor, a whole, extremely concise, however, conversation..."

"Listen, let's not start a quarrel on nothing. I never talked to you, you are right. And you never talked to me, I am right. And now that we are both right, proud and happy, let's go back to the main subject.  
What I was simply meaning is that Crabbe would not be objective about your being beautiful, because you are not beautiful, not the way he might mean this word. By the way, I think no one is "that" beautiful, frankly.  
I only wanted you to understand from your guts that being "beautiful" for Crabbe, with the consequences he is harbouring in his mind, probably is not so appealing to you. I could bet you are not interested in this compliment. You can easily do without Crabbe's beautiful's. They have no value.   
More over: his beautiful would make you choke.... odd isn't it? And your reaction too, my so rational Ms Granger, is not detached at all."

Hermione snorted.

He went on : "Your question is one of those no one could answer objectively, and you don't have to ask this question lightly.   
There could be more than one guy, ready to meow you are beautiful, you are a fairy queen, you are a star. But what does he mean with beautiful? Beautiful like a good book you like to read again sometimes, forgetting anything else. Beautiful like a slice of cake, eaten and forgotten forever ? An what's his purpose? Maybe only loosing in a much easier the way, the so many knots between him, and... well you know it. If I'd pronounce the exact word flickering in my brain, you'd state I am gross."

Hermione sneered.

He went on: "Or you could find someone less material. Who could adore you and expose you in his personal show-case. So nice, midget Granger, under security glass, to protect her from air, exposed near a Quidditch Cup, a Golden Snitch, an autograph from a star. What more could you ever claim? He will tell you, you are beautiful. He would state he would do anything for you, and you, his mate, what a honour, you could not exact anything more. A fair exchange for someone I may imagine. A reassurance on your so called beauty-power, and you take the path someone else choose for you, whatever might be. Great power indeed..."

She had the sensation he was talking to her, surely, but to someone else too. An echo of the past? Maybe a beautiful and silly girl? She wondered a bit, but after a couple of minutes Malfoy left his train of thoughts and went back to her.

"Beautiful." He smirked "Beauty is in the brain of the one who looks. Not something to bargain with something important."

He caressed her hair, "You know what was... endearing in the library, while you were looking yourself in the mirror of the pane?"

She shook her head.

"Your rejoice at what you were seeing."

She blushed.

"It was really endearing, I liked the way you liked what you were seeing, The approval, the pride, the disregard as well: you weren't taking yourself too seriously about the beauty issue. I dislike women always looking for flaws in a mirror. You were funny, anyway."

"How long had you been spying me?" she was suddenly suspicious.

The boy drawled, "Asking whether you are beautiful is not safe. You should ask only someone you are really interested in. And with open eyes. Or to someone whose opinion intrigues you, and you cant make out. All other people have no value. And your own opinion, well ..."

She looked at him, defiant: "Very well, I am not stupid, and I understand what you mean..."

He nodded.

She went on: "But now I am in front of you, and I am asking you.  
I am curious. And, if all the gossips in the girls' bedrooms are right, your opinion, would be interesting". She was just asking out of spite. Oh yes, what he had been telling her was clear to her. It was something she had pondered in her brain, just a couple of weeks before. While she was asking herself was a good girl was like. Good to herself mainly, of course. She felt a sting of pain, so good to herself not to voice her "no" or her dislikes. To an enemy. And to a friend. Even.  
But she did not want to admit anything of this crap in front of him.

He looked at her amused: "And, you need to ask me expressly? I do not need to ask you about myself. I had a quite precise idea about this matter, and a ... "hitting" perception of the limits, and of the implied trust. I do not need to ask you anything. Not explicit, at least."

She reddened.

"Anyway if you insist you are not that bad."


	8. Price tags, hidden tracks, sense of just...

Disclaimer: well, in the other 7 chapters the characters were from JKR. Nothing changed for chapter 8.  
  
Not betaed, my fault, till chapter 4 thery are brushed, betaed and properly formatted (you can check ;P)  
  
Thanks: marley as always. She thought this could be a good story !  
  
To the reviewers. Especially to the so many of chapter 7 !  
  
---------- FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION ----------  
  
Chapter 8 - Third Saturday  
  
Price tags, hidden tracks, sense of justice, and her opinion  
  
  
  
"Oh, just listen to the utterly good-mannered Slytherin!"  
  
"No, I am not utterly good-mannered, even if, surely, I am a Slytherin.  
  
And that answer of mine, whether you like it or not, is the only explicit answer you will have from me for such a silly question!  
  
Especially because you should have, already, all the answers you need, my so intelligent Gryffindor squirrel. Unless you are unable to understand what is not written in a book. It is a pity life doesn't have footnotes, isn't it?  
  
And I am under the impression this is exactly the only answer you deserve, seen this is the perfect answer for someone who goes around looking for approval. my approval, by way. Why would you ever care, after so many years of blatant contempt?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow, but she stayed there, giving him a very innocent glance.  
  
Draco smiled amused, and went on, softly: "By the way, speaking of approvals. what effects do all those A's have on you? All that work for a simple letter. Was it worth? I have always wanted to ask you."  
  
But Hermione suddenly got lost in her thoughts, looking at the landscape. There was something she really wanted to ask him, but she didn't want at all to take their usual discussion path. After so many smooth and sharp moments, this Saturday eventually appeared flooding quietly, well quietly as possible, at least with no sarcasm between themselves. And, slowly, it was going to end. Their last Saturday but one.  
  
Thoughtful, she shrugged, without looking at him, then: "I checked your marks, Malfoy."  
  
"Oh, you gave a look at the price tag? I imagine this is your way of judging, seen you do not understand a damn about Quidditch. Otherwise you would have ventured yourself checking my statistics.  
  
I do not care to mention my Gringott bank account: you drool after Ron Tagalong, and that settles the matter about money." But his voice was not dripped with sarcasm. Probably he neither wanted to spoil farther this Saturday. In his words you could detect surprise. And, maybe, really maybe, because Hermione was not able to understand him well, well, maybe she could taste a bit of. delusion?  
  
"No," Hermione answered, "it was simply because of all that fuss you did about the prefect affair: I thought only Professor McGonagall knew about my decision. I didn't talk about this subject with anybody. And I thought that, maybe, if you knew everything, it was simply because she had "chatted" about this matter with you, and then."  
  
"If I knew what, exactly? That you gave up? Or the reasons why?"  
  
"Oh, no, nobody knows my reasons."  
  
"Nobody?" his voice was fake innocent.  
  
"Well," she looked at him inquiring, then "How did you know?"  
  
"I do not know your reasons, Granger. I can't read your mind. Neither I wish to, believe me.  
  
But certain things were not difficult to understand, if you wanted to understand them, of course." He toyed with a lock of her hair. Gently.  
  
"Was it so obvious?"  
  
"What exactly? That you do not have many friends? That you are really fond of the so few you have? That you value and you care a lot of their approval? More than it would be right? Blatantly more than they value yours one? Even yourself? But you feel so isolated you accept everything without imposing limits? Or, maybe that you have a bruising crush on one of them?"  
  
"Hit. Hit and sunk." Only a week ago she would have burst out crying for such a brutal row of sentences. But now she was not crying at all. Maybe it was because he was stroking her hair so sweetly, just like she was used to coddle Crookshanks, even reassuring, she would have dared say if the boy wasn't Malfoy. Maybe because there was no harshness in his voice. Maybe.  
  
Whatever might be the real reason, what was sure was that, this time, she had no intention to cry for Malfoy. Or for herself.  
  
He gently went on: "So, what dreadful secret did you discover rummaging where you shouldn't?"  
  
"That you could be a prefect too. This year. Maybe last year as well, this I didn't check, but I have my suspicions." She smiled.  
  
"Hmmm."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"What do you mean exactly with 'why not?'? Why didn't I wag my tail, highly honoured, thanking everyone for the wonderful privilege? Or why didn't I shed my tears, overwhelmed by the emotion?"  
  
"Is it possible for you not to behave like a little bastard? Not every time, I understand it would be asking you too much. Just some of the times?" She was mocking him.  
  
She looked at him, tense, but no sparks were flying: he seemed relaxed. She relaxed as well.  
  
"Yes, I think just some times could be possible. But you should not behave like a pretentious Top of the Class."  
  
He looked at her, attentively, but neither this time sparks were flying. She simply showed him her tongue.  
  
Both smiled.  
  
"Ok, Granger, the whole truth is that I am not interested at all into wandering through the school corridors, looking for preys. I have no crave for rousing those who want to do their innocent mistakes. Or those who want to vent their instincts, feigning to call them "love".  
  
And it would not be serious. What should I do, now, for instance? Kiss you, and, meanwhile, take 10 points from Slytherin and Gryffindor?"  
  
She could not help a little smile.  
  
Draco went on, teasing her "Well, I would be pleased to take 10 points from Gryffindor, frankly. In a month, a month and a half, a very interesting Quidditch match is planned. And I am really curious to see exactly how your Harry's new team wriggles out of it.  
  
The whole Slytherin House would be delighted to do an interesting bet with old Albus Dumbledore."  
  
"The whole Slytherin House. Really!"  
  
"Oh yes, the whole Slytherin House."  
  
"And what would you ever bet?"  
  
"Hmm. the simple opportunity to organise a party, that would be the basic idea. Just a simple Slytherin feast, of course all the others students would be invited, we are not bad-mannered savages. but it would be a Slytherin old feast."  
  
"The simple idea of a Slytherin feast could make me quiver."  
  
"You can always ignore the invitation, of course."  
  
Hermione looked straight into his eyes: "Ok, Slytherin little guy, let's stop this nonsense. I was speaking seriously to you."  
  
"Alright. Accepting to become a prefect I would be just a hypocrite. There are certain nights, when all you are able to think about is to slink into an old unguarded tower, by night.  
  
All you want is to find the girl you were daydreaming; a delicious morsel, like an apple, and as longing as you are.  
  
The wish of making noise, the strange taste of whispers. You trespass the border of the silence of things you accidentally do not say, and drown in the silence of the things willingly kept unsaid.  
  
The warmth of your bodies, and the cold of the night.  
  
The smell of the season coming from outside, and her smell on me, mixing with mine own smell, changing it. in a so perceptible way, perceptible to me. And surprising.  
  
You discover the hidden track of her desires, your voiceless laughs.  
  
Somehow it is like discovering the integral version of a book you always liked.  
  
Breathtaking.  
  
You are blushing, Granger, do not hold your breath, it could hurt you!"  
  
She punched him, lightly on a shoulder; he smiled: "At a certain moment, there is a glimpse, from that point on, there is nothing left to explain, you just need to feel it.  
  
At the end. You violated 2 or 3 little rules, that could make you expelled. and the morning after, some times just few hours later. you should punish the first years, who are making din out of a classroom.  
  
Please.  
  
It is psychotic.  
  
A lot of Hogwarts life is too tight for me. I find it hard, being controlled every moment of the day, with no break. Quite everything you do, you must do it with someone else, sleep, dream, wash, eat, study, fly. name an activity, and probably you must do it sharing your space with someone else. And not always with someone you like.  
  
And quite always with someone in charge of controlling you. Even in the library, the den of the quietest people, you have Miss Pince looking at everybody like a falcon.  
  
You cannot go wherever you want, you have to ask permissions for everything. It is like being the host of a luxurious prison.  
  
And, of course, you have ton of rules. Unluckily they are very different from those I would be forced to follow at home. And often they got no sense, at least to me.  
  
Sometimes I break their rules. For my own sake.  
  
But if I allow myself this right, with what sense of justice could I exact the absolute respect for more simple rules, surely useful rules, from other people?  
  
And, most important, I have no gain in all this little preys hunting, because, unless they kill each other and there are cases where it would be disturbing, I admit it, I have no interesting gain in young students being controlled every single second.  
  
Everything is much more entertaining, as it is now.  
  
The marks you spied upon, well, I had them for myself.  
  
For the subjects I like, and for the subjects that will become an advantage for me, in the future.  
  
Not for the generic approval of people, maybe, I neither respect.  
  
If the school did wanted to pat my shoulder, the school could choose something better than award me the honour of becoming a doorkeeper and a baby-sitter.  
  
"Becoming a prefect is supposed to be an honour. You can do other things beside make the youngster follow certain rules . you can help, you can propose little changes," she was not supercilious at all, she was calm. She had believed in those things. Most important: she was still believing in them.  
  
There were so many ideas she would have liked to put into practice.  
  
But some people could see only one thing in a prefect: the hated power to pester other people.  
  
She felt slightly angry. Perhaps of all the things she put herself into, this year, the real bullshit were not these Slytherinish Saturdays with Malfoy.  
  
Perhaps the real blunder had been her visit to Professor McGonagall, claiming she had not enough time for her studies to be a prefect.  
  
How could she have renounced? And for whose approval?  
  
She stiffened. No, this she could not accept at all: she had no wish to follow the same mental paths as Malfoy. At least, about this she was sure.  
  
But, yet, she wondered: whose approval?  
  
Malfoy, shrugged his shoulders: "If someone regards this madness as an honour, much better for him; or her. Declan valued it. Declan became a prefect, in my place. He had what he wished, he is satisfied, and, incidentally, he is in debt with me.  
  
As for myself, I go wherever I want, being sure nobody will search for me in order to pester me. Kind of immunity.  
  
I had what I wished, I am satisfied, and, incidentally, I am not in debt with anybody."  
  
"And Professor McGonagall?"  
  
"And Professor McGonagall what? The iron old maid, had the number of prefects she had planned. Declan would suit her more than my humble person, by the way. I think she is satisfied. "  
  
"Ouff, I meant, what did Professor McGonagall tell you?"  
  
"Well I did not expose her my reasons the same way I am speaking with you, Granger, I am not a masochist. But she burst out with 'first Hermione, then Malfoy!' So she told me that you had given up your task. She was sincerely worried for you. And upset, very upset. Otherwise, she would have never chattered with ME, about her precious Miss Granger.  
  
I was really impressed, by the way, she has really a soft spot for you, it is not a backbiting."  
  
"I am not the teachers' pet!"  
  
"No, no, I know you are a true outspoken and annoying Miss Know-It-All. There are other Misses Know-It-All all other Hogwarts, of course, but you are the queen of them all. Believe me. If the school would ever organise a "Miss" contest, you'd win the title of "Miss Know-It-All" at once. "Miss Know-It-All" and "Miss Disdainful I-Am-Always-Right"."  
  
"Maybe it is much better than "Mister Arrogant Bastard"."  
  
"Maybe. Anyway, you are not the usual teacher's pet, and I am sure McGonagall would never do anything against the rules to help you, but she really cares.  
  
Anyway, having the news of your deception from first hand, all the other things were not so difficult to infer."  
  
"And, other people. did they .. infer . the reasons?"  
  
"Do you care? People from Gryffindor I do not know. If I can, I dodge them."  
  
"Slytherin? It was the best joke of the month for your, I guess." Her voice sounded bitter.  
  
"Oh! We are proud, aren't we?", he lifted her chin gently. She gave him a frail smile.  
  
He went on: "I did not talk about your personal decisions with the people I know. They are your own affair. Besides. the news will spread on very soon.  
  
About the reasons, well, Declan, yes Declan had imagined something about you. But I think you are difficult to understand, for him."  
  
She blushed. "Why?"  
  
"You could not understand."  
  
"Oh, yes, you are right, I am notoriously stupid."  
  
"Yes, sometimes you are."  
  
"I beg your pardon, when exactly Master Malfoy?"  
  
"When you ask something that has nothing to share with your notorious ability to collect A's."  
  
"Then, what's that about? I cannot understand Declan. or better I cannot understand what Declan fails to understand, why? Because he is a Slytherin?  
  
Well, in this case I'd say there is not too much I could find valuable to understand. The House of the. snake is not at all at the centre of my thought?"  
  
"Mudblood." There was no contempt, neither sarcasm, he was simply amused.  
  
"Pureblood!"  
  
"Yes, you are right, Pureblood. Unluckily you do not know what this means."  
  
"I know it very well, instead. It is feeling superior to anybody else because of an accidental circumstance as birth."  
  
"Wrong answer, my darling. It is a matter of culture. It is tradition. It is part of the building of your own personality, and identity. It is even an intellectual support you can claim in your most difficult hours. It is the capability of never feeling alone."  
  
"I imagine that, in order to never feel alone, the torture of Muggles and Muggleborns is indispensable. Oh, but I was so stupid not to understand. you generally do it gathered in groups. It must have a specific social function. What's the right word? A sociality ritual?"  
  
The following silence was heavy. For both the students.  
  
'He deserved it!' thought Hermione, but she was not happy.  
  
Draco had a tired gesture with his hand. Sometimes he looked older than his age, but it was not easy to place when exactly this bend in his character had appeared.  
  
"Listen, Granger, I do not want to quarrel with you again. It is Saturday, And it was a Saturday with a lot of pleasant moments. I am not able now to chat with you about Death Eater rituals, whatever they might be. Please. Anyway, speaking about this does not bring us anywhere."  
  
She nodded slowly, she was feeling tired, inside, as well.  
  
Draco went on: "But why do you consider being a prefect an honour? I am simply curious.  
  
Are you thinking about your future family? It is a concealed maternity desire? Or you want to train yourself for your 6 or 7 ginger headed Weasley children? This is what you are thinking about? How to learn as quick as possible the way to cope with a bunch a little monsters, always needing you for the simplest things, while you try to learn your usually perfect charms for your future perfect job? I can have a perfect mental picture of Weasel, going to a Quidditch match, and leaving you at home to look after the children. His mother was so happy this way, a housewife, her family was her realisation, why wouldn't you feel realised as well?  
  
Or you are thinking of Harry and of your future only child? I cannot see Harry as a father, anyway. or maybe he is the perfect husband and father for a woman who wants to do everything on her own. at least that's what I figure out when I think of the two of you together, the Invisible Husband and She-Captain Nemo!"  
  
"NO! And, stop treating my life as a library bookshelf! You cannot rummage and pick up randomly!" She was cold. Cold and terribly angry.  
  
After a while, he grazed her arm.  
  
"Hush, please, soften, midget Granger, sweeten a bit. I didn't expect you to snap this way. I am sorry, there was no need to be so rough. Not with you, at least."  
  
She gave him a defiant look, but he seemed serious. She shrugged "If this is the best apology you can do, well you should train yourself with apologies a lot more."  
  
"Ok, I'll write this on my timetable. Maybe I could find a little spare time after Transfiguration and before Magical Creatures."  
  
"You are not improving your situation doing the clown."  
  
"Ok, I am sorry. I apology formally. And I promise I will not speak anymore, well, anymore at least for today, about your sweetheart and his best friend. Whoever of the two he might be."  
  
"Better for you. Next time I'll hex you. And you will need Madame Pomfrey's best tricks to recollect yourself!"  
  
"Ok, I have recognised the subtle message.  
  
Anyway, I was speaking seriously, I promise I will not burst out laughing, whatever you might say. I'd like to know your opinions. Really."  
  
She hesitated.  
  
His fingers were still caressing her arm.  
  
That graze was the only skin contact they had had after. well, after "that".  
  
She felt out of breath thinking about "that". she had never. with anyone. and then the fear, well of course she didn't really trust him. And of course he had understood the... "implied trust", but.  
  
No, everything had been simply wrong. She did not want to close her eyes and imagine something silly, just to justify herself to herself.  
  
But now, there was nothing sensual in the touch of his fingers, it was just, maybe, the wish of a "contact".  
  
He was still silent looking at her, expectantly.  
  
She flattened on the wall, her arms around her legs. "You won't like everything I might say."  
  
"You are asking my permission to insult me? I had the impression you never needed it."  
  
She smiled. "I do not think you will feel insulted, and, I promise, I will not mention the Death Eaters anymore, anymore for today, at least, but. ok Malfoy, as you like it." 


	9. III Saturday Hermione talks

Title: A Four Saturdays Detention (4/?)  
  
Author name : smoke  
Category : Romance  
Keywords : Hermione Granger Draco Malfoy  
Spoilers : All The Books/All Four Books   
Rating : PG 13   
Summary : Hermione finally talks.  
  
Disclaimer : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Thanks : Of course to Quinn.  
  
And, of course, to everyone who had the patience to write me a review.  
  
Personal notes: not betaed. I swear In this fortnight I'll fix, format and upload the betaed parts... I am really too slack, sorry!  
  
  
Chapter 8 - Third Saturday  
Hermione talks  
  
Hermione took a deep breath: "I think that the first part of your justification is really dumb."  
  
"Wow! Interesting beginning..."  
  
"Yes, it makes me laugh; your rants are the rants an immature little boy would do. Listen, I can understand that some rules are tight for you, but I really fail to understand why you complain so much.  
  
Do you want to become a wizard? A trained wizard? Then, come to Hogwarts.  
  
If in this country there were other places, maybe more comfortable, or that you could get in a much easier way from your home, or schools with less rules, or whose rules fitted better your reckless personality, or, perhaps, if you could find a cheaper place, well, in this case you'd have a whole range of choices. You could change school, why not?  
  
But, today, and now, you don't have such choices.  
  
You have only one simple choice behind your eyes: or you wish to become a wizard, or you do not wish it.  
If you choose the wizard future, then you have Hogwarts, a boarding school, with all its advantages and drawbacks.   
And you had another choice not everyone here had. You are a privileged boy: your family is very rich, I am sure you could have afforded home tuition.   
  
Anyway, if you do not choose the wizard future, then go do something different: the world is full of Muggle schools of every kind, price and tradition.  
  
More, I'd like to draw your attention to a simple point: the letter from Hogwarts is only an acceptance letter. It only says you can enrol this school. It doesn't state at all that if you choose otherwise you'll be punished with death, or torture. So, you could simply answer 'No, thank you.'.  
Therefore, if you are here, you are here because you did a choice, whose terms you knew very well.  
  
More over, seen you were so eager to point out this detail: you are a Pureblood. It means your parents were both here, and your grandparents, and all your Slytherinish Pureblood family, probably..."  
  
Draco sneered. "So, what?"  
  
Hermione went on: "So, you could listen to the experience of all these relatives, and you could know perfectly what you might expect from this school. You had the privilege to do a choice with your eyes perfectly open.  
Much better than a Mudblood could do, a Mudblood who, just to make an example, had no experience at all of this world. Neither a second-hand one.   
  
Therefore, after you did your choice, you have no right to complain in such a childish way."  
  
She halted, quietly, to detect his reactions; Draco was blushing. She had a mischievous grin; she had the impression he found harder being called "childish" than "arrogant bastard".   
  
After a while he drawled, feigning indifference "I see... so here we have the strong woman, who bears everything in silence, teaching wise life lessons to the little pampered weak child..."  
  
"I don't think "strong" is the right adjective. But "mature", maybe, would fit."  
  
"Oh, so modesty doesn't suit you, neither, apparently..."  
  
Now it was her turn to blush, stiffened.  
  
"Dear Ms Granger, I want to tell you a little anecdote... Do you know what the 'diritto al mugugno' is ?"  
  
She shook her head and looked at him interested.  
  
"Well the literal translation is 'right of complaint', the 'mugugno' is a grumbling mumble. You know the noise a pot of beans might do, while boiling in the fireplace? A continuous husky, low, noise, modulating between a growl and a groan? Well, the mugugno is exactly that.  
  
In the old navy of Genova, there was a tradition that lasted till the beginning of XX century, concerning every sailor, but that started with the sailors from Camogli. Once upon a time they were considered the best sailors of the whole world.   
  
When a sailor chose to board on a ship, under a captain, he had the right to ask, in his contract, to have the 'diritto al mugugno', the right to complain. And generally he was accorded this right: it was a tradition. They could growl while executing an order.  
  
Therefore, the sailor was doing his job, the job he had been paid for, as they agreed, but he had the right to mumble, while doing it, as much as he liked, if he thought the order was wrong."  
  
Hermione chuckled, amused "Not bad, as right..."  
  
"Not bad at all, because it warrantees something really precious: your holy right to perceive that the world is not exactly as you would like it. Your holy right not to be obliged to act as you did not perceive it, as you were dumb, and that's worse, I hope you will agree with me. And the right to understand you are bored.  
  
And frankly, I do not think that the using these three simple rights is childish. Just human. I refuse to consider myself as a person without conscience of myself, someone always happy to do his duty, just because it is a duty.   
  
On the other hand, seen you pointed out this detail, you spied on my marks; you admitted it.  
So, you know very well, that I did my job, the job my enrolling at Howgarts implied. And I did it very well..."  
  
"All right: you studied your school subjects.   
To me, it sounds like a rather normal behaviour, studying, I mean, and doing my duty, but maybe for you, it was a bit more difficult task...   
And, finally, and you admit it yourself, your studying is for yourself, for your own good... the better you do, the better for you. Certainly not for me.  
  
Anyway, you are not completely childish, I can concede this is true. And, maybe, you might have the right to complain a bit, but not as you do. You act as you were perfectly right! And as if your point of view was the only possible one. Or the smartest one, and that's worse, I hope you will agree with me..."  
  
She halted to take a breath and looked at him, but he was not angry, simply interested. At least that's what she could make out from his expression.  
She went on, still placid: "And about your ... tale of your nocturnal meetings with... how did you call the girls? Inviting morsels as longing as you are? Well, I know very well it was just a story you put up to make me hold my breath. Me, the Gryffindor puritan Mudblood Know-It-All, you never agree with."  
  
He burst out laughing, and she, a while after, joined him.  
  
"Ok, Granger, I apologise for my tale... I did not think you would have felt upset."  
  
"Well, that tale was a completely dumb tale..."  
  
He raised an eyebrow: "Are you sure?"  
  
Hermione blushed: he was back at ease now, and he had his usual Crooksanks style expression... she felt nervous.  
"Well, what I mean is that it is really so reductive that your wish of freedom is just centred on a night with a girl. It is so... so little, in my opinion.  
  
And, listen to me, please, I said little, I didn't say "zero". I am human too, not a device who eats books and spits out good marks, more over, well, after these two Saturdays I spent with you I faced something about myself."  
  
He looked at her with curiosity: "What do you mean?"  
  
"Please, try to understand, I am aware I accepted to spend these Saturdays with you freely: I could simply do otherwise and never climb that staircase.   
You never forced me in any way.   
Maybe I am not always fair with you, it costs me a bit to admit it... but I appreciated you behaviour... before... when I ... well, sort of panicked... you know what I mean.   
You could have been... different. Right or wrong, you could have been."  
  
She dropped her glance, then she went on: "And, believe me, I have no intention to present you any bill, at the end of these Saturdays. I do not owe you anything, and you do not owe me anything.  
There is nothing I could ever exact.   
I could never do it, I must not, and I, frankly, I do not want to, as well..."  
  
"Ok, Granger, do not worry, I got this point. Perfectly." He cut in dryly.  
  
They looked at each other attentively. Malfoy nodded and said "So...? What do you want to tell me about these two Saturdays?"  
  
"Malfoy, after these two Saturdays, if I'd act as I didn't understand that feeling wished is... nice, or that it is a warming sensation to have a human contact, besides the simple student-professor relationship, or the student-student one, besides homework, essays, and the usual comments about the Quidditch match, I always do not understand a damn about... well, if I'd pretend this way, I'd be just an hypocrite."  
  
Draco sneered "This was better than Quidditch, then...", he chuckled briefly, "...human contact... Literally accurate, I dare say, as definition... You never miss your peculiar Top of the Class little touch whatever you are speaking about..."  
  
Hermione blushed. Again. "Ok, it would sound better to you if I'd call this... 'thing'... hormonal euphoria?"  
  
Malfoy looked at her attentively: "Hormonal euphoria, on my humble opinion, is something slightly different.   
I would not feel disappointed, if you asked me to share it, this hormonal euphoria you don't know very well, with you, by the way. In case you had not understood my ... readiness. Yet.  
  
But, for this... 'thing'... I might say that 'human contact', or 'allegro ma non troppo' - 'allegro' but not too much, I do not know if you are familiar with music vocabulary - would be more suitable than an euphoria.  
  
Anyway, why this research for the right word? Are you planning to write an essay for Professor McGonagall on this experience?"  
  
She blushed: "Do you want me to go on?"  
  
"I would be delighted... you are so quiet generally..."  
  
"In this case, if you would deign to shut up for a while, you would be a precious help."  
  
He smiled to her, amused, and bowed ceremoniously.  
  
"Well, on a point, I must agree with you, you are right; if this school wasn't a boarding school, we all would taste more freedom.   
  
I can see the things from your point of view: you could go back home after classes, and you'd spend your free time with those you like. You would never stumble on Ron, Harry, or on a Mudblood, like me. You could dodge all of us, so easily, knowing only the people who are just like you are.   
  
And you could spend your Saturdays as you like, without having to do everything on secret. No sneaky ways: most of things that now are forbidden, would be easier, even normal; the limits of your freedom would be just a family matter, between you and your parents. School would never be involved in other aspects of your life, other than your marks, I mean. What you would do in an unguarded tower would be your own business..."  
  
Draco smiled amused: "A dumb tale, I agree, but you were impressed, I dare say."  
  
Hermine stiffened: "You want me to go on or what?"  
  
"Please, do not let my silly remarks interfere in any way..."  
  
She gave him a very bad look, and, then, she went on: "Maybe, this way, you could have used your broomstick since the first year, while, here, you were forbidden by school rules.   
And, maybe, poor Harry would have never flied, and his life would have simply gone on, like his usual hell. No Nimbus 2000, no Firebolt, no Wronski Feints. No break from the Dursleys for the whole school year. Poor Harry, really. Learning to be a wizard, but still forced to live in that horrible way.   
I could never envy him his childhood.  
  
And, as far as I am concerned, well, don't think I never wondered about all this, maybe I could do other things. There are so many activities, Muggle people consider normal, part of their everyday life, and I am completely cut out from them. I quite neither know some of them anymore.   
  
I see a swimming pool only during summer vacation. I can never hear the music I liked, and there are some nights where I would simply like to go to a cinema, just to look at a stupid movie, sink in a chair and eat an ice cream, forgetting everything else, as I did when I was a kid, but it is simply impossible.  
  
And you know I never saw an interactive CD-ROM? And I would like so much to see one... And electricity? I miss electricity so much, can you believe me? I cannot read till late, at night, only with my candle: there are certain evenings, that, when I finally go to bed, it is really too dark to read a bit more, and my eyes hurt. I close them, but they still smart.  
All silly things, I understand it very well. But I miss them."  
  
He nodded slowly. "So you are agreeing with me. Therefore, now, I am sure you will tell me there is a 'but'... Let's listen to your 'but'."  
  
"Well, Malfoy, actually, I have more than one 'but', and, try to understand me, I am examining all the sides of this matter only now, with you, so don't expect a perfect reasoning from me!"  
  
He had a nonchalant gesture of the hand "I am not going to look for the tiniest flaws in your believes. Besides, I have no intention to give you a mark, at the end, like it was an essay... feeling better?"  
  
"Well, I think that we all belong to the same community, but, at the same time, we all come from different experiences, different families.  
And Hogwarts, with its ancient, even antiquated structure, gives us the strange advantage we are all forced to live together.  
  
You do not have all the Pureblood people somewhere, the Mudblood somewhere else, and the Muggleborn in another place.  
Neither you have a dedicated structure for rich people, then another for middle class students, and then a different one for the poorest members of the wizarding society.  
We are all mixed, and somehow constrained to crash continuously one into the other.  
  
It is right you are forced to face Ron, or to listen to his ideas. And not only about Quidditch. It could be good for you; Arthur Weasley is a very good man, by the way, and a really wonderful father... so caring.  
  
And somehow, it was right I was forced to meet you. I do not like it when you call me Mudblood. Not a bit. But maybe it was right I had the chance to meet here someone like you. There are other people like you, outside, and I cannot close my eyes behind this evidence, only because I do not like it.  
Or maybe even Snape, look, I thought back about what you said about him during our first Saturday..."  
  
Hermione blushed while saying "our". 'It was not our at all, it was just a Saturday, but why on earth did I have to say "our"? Why do I have to behave like a silly ditz? I do not want other Saturdays with Malfoy! No more than those we agreed about!'  
She was feeling ashamed.  
  
Draco stroked her arm: "Don't stop now, I am listening to you, believe me."  
  
"Well, maybe, when we do not have all the things in our life so easy, or perfect, or always polite, as they would be in our expectations, then we learn how to survive an unpleasant speech, and maybe we even learn how to handle a conflict situation. Even if the words the other one use with us, may make us feel insulted, or hurt.  
  
Of course you must have certain limits you ought not to trespass, otherwise from a conflict situation, you simple end in an abusive situation.  
  
Maybe with these conflicts, you might learn how to say a no to a behaviour you dislike, or simply you could understand how to manage them with the least moral damage.  
Any kind of sport has a training activity. And fight is a sport as well."  
  
She looked at him shyly... what she was saying had any sense to him?  
  
He nodded, surprised, "Yes, I agree with you. Theoretically. In practice, about all these meetings/crashes between members of different Houses, because here the main borderlines are the Houses, let's face it, well I 'd have something to say about them. Or, better, nothing to say. Because, simply, often they simply do not happen.  
Anyway, you told me you had other but's, and I would like to listen to them."  
  
"My second objection is that Hogwarts forces all of us to be peers, at least for a while. The Malfoy Manor and the Burrow are far away: here everybody has the same space, available for himself, we can read the same books, and more or less we share the same opportunities.  
  
Every student has the right to access the whole library, well, not the restricted sections of course, but, anyway, we are speaking of tons of books. Independently from the number of books you might have at home, here, you can browse freely among shelves and shelves... And Madam Pince can help you find whatever you are looking for.  
You can develop an interest in whatever branch of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you will have the opportunity to rummage as you please in the best books about those subjects. Freely.  
  
Every student can use the Quidditch Pitch. A wide space to fly, play or train yourself, if you wish it.  
  
And every student, if he has the courage to face the Professor Snape's angelic personality can work in the dungeons, at his own potions, if he wishes.  
  
Everything at hand, everything for you, independently from your parents' Gringott bank account... If you think about all this for a while, not taking it for granted, well, it is simply amazing.  
  
Maybe for you it is normal. I never saw your Manor, maybe you would have a larger room, and a personal bathroom... Maybe you have a wide place where you can fly at home. Maybe you have at home a lot of other interesting tricks.   
But I bet you cannot have a library like this, and brilliant adults like our Professors to discuss with. And the people, of course.  
  
Besides, if for someone who is poor it is a relief to be able to live without the so many personal limitations he has at home, for someone as spoiled as you are it is good to taste a limitation, for once in your life.  
  
Maybe, this way, you could finally understand why it was so mean to mock Ron for his formal dress, that maroon disgusting cloth, on the train. That time I would have liked to hex you till I saw you bleeding.  
If you had been different, that dress would have been simply invisible to your eyes. While it would have been acceptable, even funny to tease him about hhim being slack, or about his so antiquated prudery.  
  
I really found horrible when your father presented a Nimbus 2001 to the whole Slytherin Quidditch Team.  
Maybe you are right when you say I burn a possibility to Neville when I help him. I hear your words, by the way, maybe my skull is thick, maybe I run as fast as an arrow, but I'm trying to listen to you, on these Saturdays, believe me. Even when you hurt me, and make me grow angry, with your opinions.  
But what your father did was ten times much worse.  
  
Your money comes from your family, not from your personal efforts... it is right you have a place where you are forced to live and compete with everyone else as a peer... you'll have a whole life to enjoy your privileges.  
It is good you have to work hard on the things you want. Good to your character, I mean. It would help you to understand what's due to you for your personal qualities, what's due for your hard work, and what simply for birth rights. And what is simple luck, because there's luck too, in life.  
An adult must face a world larger than his inner family circle.   
I'd prize such experience, if I were you.  
  
And, one last thing, here, as far as possible, you have no parents spoiling their children, or invisible parents. Whatever your family might be, here you are not different from anyone else. Same rules, same duties, same rights. Of course, same loneliness, I know it.  
But this is not the real special thing about Hogwarts. The special one I'll tell you later."  
  
Hermione halted to breath, feeling suddenly shy; she looked at him, but Draco was nodding slowly not looking into her eyes.  
She hesitantly put her hand on his shoulder. 


	10. III Saturday Relational Harmony

---------- FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION ----------  
  
DISCLAIMER: nothing is mine, only the dialogues!  
  
NOTE: I do not have a beta, I am sorry. I really would like to have one, but I have none.  
  
Chapter 10 - Third Saturday Relational harmony  
  
"Malfoy, if I said something wrong, something that somehow insulted you, well, I didn't mean it."  
  
Draco sneered "One day or another, you should explain me what keeps flickering in your head. Maybe behind cup of tea... But how is it you are so eager to avoid a friction? Maintenance of relational harmony at any cost? Of course only apparently: yours are just a bunch of words. A tad hypocritical Miss Know-It-All?"  
  
"Maybe I am not obnoxious. Is this explanation too simple for you?"  
  
"Oh, I see, your personal idea of obnoxious is the refusal to have a compromising style?"  
  
Hermione didn't lose her patience as she had expected, she simply raised and eyebrow: "Of course I imagine you love uncompromising style. totally uncompromising style, maybe even a very violent style? What would you think of the strategy 'a blow on your face if you do not agree with me'? Or maybe you prefer magic. I am rather good with spells, wanna try?"  
  
Draco burst out laughing "Ok, ok. I am not totally against polite manners! But Granger. would you mind to explain me just one little thing? Are you afraid I could wound you if you happen to tell me something I could dislike? You are under the impression I could hurt you right now? I mean something physical like breaking your arm, for instance?"  
  
She looked at him with disdain "Frankly I don't think you could do such a thing."  
  
Draco shook his head "You never cease surprising me. How can you be so blatantly sure I'll not harm you and, meanwhile, be so blatantly sure about my cruelly rapacious Death Eater future?"  
  
"I cannot read your future, Malfoy."  
  
"No, you cant; if the gossips I heard are true, you were a complete disaster with Divination, Longbottom was much better than you."  
  
"I cannot tell you your future Malfoy, but this has nothing to do with a silly subject based on old tales and stupid tea leaves. Maybe your character and your behaviour. they give hints to everyone about your deepest inclinations. Your future is often a matter of fact."  
  
"And from this deep analysis of my humble person, you deduce... what exactly?"  
  
Hermione blushed, and then "Well, I trust you. Now, in this moment. And here. But somewhere else and in another moment, even tomorrow morning, well, I would not trust you at all. And I have this very vague feeling that, within a couple of years you could scare me to death."  
  
"I am so relieved" irony in his voice. Of course. What else? Hermione looked away from his eyes, 'irony and sarcasm are his best companions'.  
  
"So am I, relieved," she cut in, "We are alone here, in the Tower, and you are bigger and taller than me."  
  
"Well, bigger and taller, that's granted, but. how is it that Miss Non violent GryffinGranger was the one who slapped me, once?"  
  
Hermione went suddenly red "If I have to be utterly sincere, it was a beautiful moment of my life, one I'll remember forever. I harboured a feeling of completion for a while after slapping you. But I was wrong, I admit it, because there was no use about slapping you: you were such a slimy jackass whom nothing could ever make better. Happy now?"  
  
"I don't know if I have to be happy, I was just wondering about you, you just defined yourself as 'not obnoxious'. just wondering about your personal vocabulary. It doesn't match mine, probably."  
  
This time Hermione didn't blush, but if she had, it would have been out of spite: "So, what's your point exactly? No tortuous path, please. I am bored with your dialectic exercises without purpose. You said that a conversation with me had the taste of a conversation with someone deaf. well sometimes speaking with you is like trying to grab a wild animal, writhing and escaping."  
  
"Well the point is that, seen what you think about me is not so kind and seen that you have no trouble about expressing your true feelings about my personal life so well, why the hell while we speak about a serious matter, at least, a serious matter for yourself, you suddenly become so useless shy? So eager not to hurt me and so on?" he took a breath, "Seen you are not afraid of a physical damage, what are you protecting? Our life long warm friendship?"  
  
Hermione answered slowly "No, we do not share any warm old friendship. I know this for sure."  
  
"Well, in this case, just tell me what you think. Exactly. Don't change the shape of your thoughts just to make them fit with mine. You are not that good, by the way, one moment 'oh Malfoy, maybe I hurt you? Oh I didn't mean it at all' like a wide-eyed innocent Victorian violet, and one second later 'slimy jackass'."  
  
Hermione burst out giggling: "Ok, I got the point. Frankly now I understand why you say that the teacher you like the most is Snape. The first Saturday you were so surprised I found his personality loathsome. Now I understand your disbelief. how could you ever find him horrid? Impossible!"  
  
Draco smiled "And I understand perfectly that the teacher you like the most is McGonagall, I can see a lot of her typical warmth and friendliness in your behaviour."  
  
The girl looked away. And the boy sighed: "No symmetry allowed?"  
  
After a while, Hermione answered hesitantly: "Maybe you are not completely wrong, but what's the use of trying to hurt me? You saw me crying once, I do not think I'll do it again for you. If you want to speak with me, it is better if you try to adopt a partially compromising style. Otherwise you are only looking for brawls. What's the next step? Calling me Mudblood?"  
  
Draco looked at her "Maybe you are not completely wrong as well. I do not want to waste our time. unless you become suddenly interested into more passionate activities, I would like to know what's so special about Hogwarts, for you. Go on, Granger, I am completely yours!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes "Ok, ok. Well, what's really special about Hogwarts is that everyone, and I mean really everyone of British wizard society comes here. You can come from whatever place, a Muggle little town, an ancient Manor. but at a certain point of your life you were here. And, later on, you can do whatever you like, you can drive the Knight Bus, you can become a Professor of DADA, a librarian, you can sell ice creams, or you can be the First Minister. whatever. But for a while your life belonged to this place. And I say "a while", but it lasts exactly seven years. Seven years is a lot of time, in my opinion, a child takes the Hogwarts express for the first time, a woman leaves this place maybe forever.  
  
Your first spell, your first punishment, the first rules not from your parents, your first true friends, all these things happened here.  
  
This is a microsociety, the first cells of a bigger entity. Not a bunch of individuals, but a pulsating society. The future of everything starts here.  
  
And it would be right to seize the opportunity to know each other, to understand each other, to find sort of a common language. I think that this school has the duty to train us as wizards and witches, refining our magical skills. But, Malfoy, but that's much more: we could become better people. Everyone of us should bring his own experience, offering it like a gift. Cant you see the beauty of all this? The hidden power and generosity? The gift of a whole world. But maybe, for you, this is just trying to transform everyone into copies coming form the same mould."  
  
The last sentence, unwillingly passed her lips with a bitter note.  
  
She gave him a quick glance, expecting him to sneer, or laugh, or raise an eyebrow sceptically, but no sarcastic smirk on his face. He merely shrugged. 


	11. III Saturday Gunning Down Her Smile

--------- FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION ----------  
Chapter 11 - Third Saturday  
  
Gunning down her smile  
Malfoy kept toying with her curls.  
  
The sunset, playing with their reflex enhanced everything reddish in her hair. A ruffled waterfall of orange marmalade, and cinnamon was flaming down her back. The locks were standing out against the black uniform, gaining a different light under the moves of his slender fingers.  
  
Suddenly she didn't find her robe unappealing. Oh, not at all. Bookwormish, yes, maybe, not exactly elegant, but, at the same moment, why not?  
  
It was so funny to discover the kind of pleasure she was able to give not doing anything at all, for once. Just talking and being there.  
  
Just being Hermione?  
  
When Draco gently brushed away a lock from her forehead Hermione wondered: how was it that she hadn't concisely noticed the very moment he went nearer? The second his fingers got tangled into her hair?  
  
Maybe, and she held a smile, maybe he had lost his well-known Malfoy charm.  
  
or was the whole matter becoming just a habit?  
  
It felt so good to feel someone enjoy her hair softness, at last, even if, she thought, even if the boy was Malfoy, but strangely she was feeling no thrill, just sheltered.  
  
Was this his purpose or just her brain?  
  
"The gift of a whole world..." the boy was mumbling pensively, "and the purpose? Building a brand new society for all of us, with no exception... this is what you mean, am I right?"  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"My first impulse would be to tell you that school instruction can't be a thorough therapeutically treatment whose purpose is people standardisation.  
  
An eyewink, a couple of gentle words, and suddenly we are effortlessly driven to be the perfect citizens of a specific society. The best of all the possible societies, of course.  
  
These ideas you talk about so lyrically, these ideas are a tad dangerous: can't you smell the brainwashing blend?  
  
The first step is always that you are the depositary of the truth, a revealed truth, and the final theory explaining everything; of course you know what is good for the society! How could it be otherwise?  
  
But one of the final steps could be using violence to mark your personal belief into every innocent being's brain. Violence or moral intimidation, or declaring mad, mentally unbalanced those disagreeing with your perfect solution. I guess it depends on your personal soft spots."  
  
The glance Hermione shot him was unreadable.  
  
"Yes, I know you sincerely believe in what you say, I am not implying anything against you, personally." Malfoy added calmly, "Altogether you are a Gryffindor."  
  
He looked at her closely, "I didn't notice this before, but you look like Declan: always after bullshits without any sensible goal."  
  
Hermione looked back into his eyes quietly: "Maybe my thoughts are dragon dung, but they are much better than thinking about yourself and other mean rubbish. Your thoughts about prefects, just to make an example, they do are really reductive... that's what irked me while you were speaking."  
  
The boy didn't grow angry, and the girl felt relieved, the tortuous Saturday had not yet blown out into their faces, and she didn't want this to happen at all.  
  
The boy chuckled, but with no hint of mock. He slowly caressed her cheek with his fingertips.  
  
Hermione dropped her glance, she had never imagined that Malfoy could have such a gentle touch; she had always assumed he was the kind of boy with a very romantic style, all bruising kisses, ravaging lips and roaming hands.  
  
'I was wrong. a caring lover, just heartless out of his bed, of course.'  
  
She suddenly blushed, what the hell was she thinking about? She put a bit more distance between herself and the boy.  
  
Malfoy observed her carefully, then crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the rocky walls of the Tower. "No, I can't agree with you, my personal points of view aren't reductive at all, they are simply very different from yours.  
  
Being a prefect isn't something you suddenly decide to be, you don't have to fill a form; this school tells you that becoming a prefect is not something you can ask politely, or whine about, the rules are different: it's a privilege offered to a very good student as an award for the very good results. Am I wrong?"  
  
"No, I reckon you are not wrong."  
  
"Well an award, in my humble opinion, in order to be a true reward should please myself and my humble person. And my humble person can't get any satisfaction out of the whole prefect affair. I'd rather wish Dumbledore would tell me 'Dear Draco Malfoy, We noticed that this year you had very good marks, and We appreciated the efforts you put into your goals.  
  
For this reason We decided you will be awarded the honour to clean the boys' bathroom using your personal toothbrush, and no wand, of course.  
  
We expect you to perform this peculiar and useless task every Wednesday evening. Have fun.'"  
  
Hermione couldn't stop giggling, Malfoy was a perfect Dumbledore, a vignette of the wise old Headmaster done without lack of respect "Go on Malfoy, you are priceless."  
  
"Well I find the first year kids disgusting, a brat pack."  
  
"Oh yes, I understand perfectly what you mean" she grinned playfully, "Your humble person is the ultimate standard of value, not so egoistical as I suspect, maybe, but surely an individualist who likes to walk out of the crowd."  
  
"And you, my darling Granger you are an annoyingly collectivist, whose ultimate standard of value is the people, an abstract entity.  
  
I understand you better than I thought it could ever be possible: you don't want a prize rewarding the individual, you want a prize whose goal is to insert this same individual much better into the society he belongs to.  
  
Hermione smiled to him: "Perfect! Exactly what I would have liked to tell you! It's so astounding to discover we agree so well about what we disagree about."  
  
"Well dear little squirrel, individualism is not loathsome."  
  
"No, it isn't, a single individualist brings no harm. But think of a society made of self-centred egoist individuals, with no social conscience. Would you like it? A society good for sociopath, but for normal people?"  
  
"You say so, because you think that only a "do-goodies" society can warrant social solidarity! But this way you are erasing the individual, his strength, and his true beauty. 'Deinos o anthropos' terrible great thing is the man."  
  
"You are extremist, as usual, but I think you should agree with me: a society glorifying individual pulses is a society that will easily slip into a "wolves society", homo homini lupus, the man acts like a wolf towards another man. Seen you like so much quotations."  
  
He had a smile: the girl's brain worked well, as usual.  
  
"Well, but have you ever thought that a society always insisting into being good, gentle, solider slips into continuous censorship? And dullness as well!  
  
By the way, did you notice the most of discoveries, that are mostly improvements of life quality for most of the people, or art masterpieces, or novels, well all these products are individual achievements? It's quite impossible to find a poetry written by twenty different authors.  
  
And, really, I am curious about this, don't you find strange that in contemporary wizardry society you hardly find interesting artists. Don't you miss more humanistic studies, here at Hogwarts? I have the impression that to avoid most conflicts between different points of view we are mostly trained not to reason as individuals, but to become simple 'technicians'?  
  
We are trained to be just good witchcraft technicians. Charms, Spells, Potions technicians. It's not something to undervalue, not at all, but. is this enough for you?"  
  
Hermione slowly reddened.  
  
She went back to just some hours ago. Or maybe it was a whole life ago, the time was flowing so quickly, this unusual sixth year, and the Saturday had been full of surprises and discoveries.  
  
Anyway, this morning, not exactly an eternity ago, yet somehow in the midst of the past, in front of the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room, Crookshanks lazily purring in her lap, she had been complaining of the lack of more humanistic classes. What had she imagined instead of the boring Professor Binn's lessons?  
  
"History of British Magical Thought"?  
  
Yes, something like that.  
  
Oh, but she couldn't surrender to Malfoy's point. He was just a Slytherin, and Slyhterins, everybody knows it perfectly, are always wrong, no use taking them into consideration.  
  
Oddly enough, she felt a stab of guilty. 'I don't want to quarrel,' she thought, 'I just want to. explain myself.'  
  
"I believe that the real purpose is not to state whether collectivism or individualism are the better philosophical approach to judge an abstract society. I think that the real purpose of society itself is to improve the life conditions of the people belonging to that same society. And I don't mean only the economical conditions, but life quality as well.  
  
My impression is that if we start fighting about which is better, we are stuck at a dead end; and, frankly, I am not able to discuss about this seriously, I must acknowledge it. Not about a complex society.  
  
But I would like to speak about a micro society, like Hogwarts, we are experiencing first hand, every day. I just wanted to explain you that your kind of approach implies a closure. To think always about yourself is mean, is limitative.  
  
And when you say that being a prefect means to look after the first year's kids because they are messing around, you are reducing this task to something dumb, deprived of its real power. There is something more about being a prefect, and there could be much, much more."  
  
Hermione, still sat on the floor, outlined every single word tapping on the pavement rocks with her index finger.  
  
"And this is the reason why I called the things you are after useless and not worthless; there's a slight difference," he muttered.  
  
"Useless?"  
  
"Yes, useless. Actually the prefect is only a little jail-policeman, officially he, or she, has only one duty: to help Filch. And every one runs away when you see the prefect approaching because you don't want to be pestered.  
  
Even his brothers were fed up with poor Percy Weasley. don't do as you can't remember! I think he had more troubles and mockery by the twins, than by any other students of his own House!"  
  
"I remember those days very well," Hermione answered on a bitter note, "But the trouble is the way some people perceive this charge: that's the first wrong thing! Some people can't discern in that charge 'authority' from 'abuse'!"  
  
"You want the truth? Most of prefects, as soon as possible, act like jackass. Sort of omnipotence delirium takes them and they start imposing on everyone their personal obsessions: finally they have the public and a power.  
  
Most of time they are earnest in their madness. And most of time they drive you mad about perfectly irrelevant dragon dung."  
  
Hermione bounced, a sudden mental picture of Percy and his pompous speeches about cauldron bottoms, flickered through her mind.  
  
Malfoy went on: "If he is not a good guy, or at least a decent guy, he poisons the life of everyone he is charge of.  
  
Your grades can never show if you are a decent guy, believe me, or should I speak about the very brilliant Tom Riddle? He did great things indeed, terrible, yet great: a powerful wizard.  
  
But, somehow I have the impression he would make you quiver as prefect, much more than my humble person would.  
  
Surely more disgusting than Crabbe's unrequited attentions in the Quidditch closet. Am I wrong?  
  
And the kids, poisoned and pestered by the jackass in charge, become worse than they were the first day they came here.  
  
More over: to make them better people, as you would like so much, you should be, you, the perfect prefect, a better person. But, my darling, you can't help to be a slimy jackass as most of people are, with your personal flaws you are not even aware of. Your personal shade of jackass, but always a jackass.  
  
How can you possibly hope to make a poor kid "better"."?  
  
Hermione went red: "You are not completely wrong, and it isn't easy for me to acknowledge you, believe me. But during these days, I ended thinking differently, that charge is really a prize because it brings a responsibility with it.  
  
And this peculiar responsibility is not only towards the others, oh no Malfoy, it is a responsibility towards yourself as well.  
  
Just in order to make other people better we should first make ourselves better people, and to be better we should firstly know ourselves.  
  
This sentence is about 2800 years old, but it is still a very wise sentence: 'Know yourself!'"  
  
They were silent for a few minutes.  
  
Hermione was mumbling about she had said, everything had blurted out naturally, surprising her, but somehow she felt she right.  
  
Draco was looking at her, the he shook his head: "About your last sentence, I totally agree, but there is something disturbing I always thought about you: you have no wish to understand the world, you only want to change it."  
  
Hermione wasn't paying attention, shrouded in thought, after a while she tilted her chin and looked into the boy's eyes, shy but firm.  
  
"There is something else, Malfoy."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Hermione reddened: "The prefects should spend their time with the kids, but they should take the time to mingle with the prefects from other Houses. When you are a child it is heartening to join people like you; everything is so new. I think it is very good that the Sorting Hat makes a choice at your place and its choice is not based on your skills, or on what you studied during summer time, at home. I understood it, later, but I got it: there is no House for the most skilled wizards.  
  
The Sorting Hat chooses looking at what you are exactly and what you would like to become in that very moment. Later on it's not the same, I know it, I see things change around myself, continuously: people change imperceptibly, but in that moment you are in a precise way.  
  
Even your family has its own precise traits, and it is good that the passage from home to Hogwarts appears effortless. Everything in your life is changing, it is your first time far from home, but nothing really changed, and the Common Room is less scary.  
  
Especially for a Muggleborn, you can trust me Malfoy."  
  
Malfoy's eyes inspected her eyes steadily, but he said no word.  
  
Hermione went on: "But when the kids grow older, maybe they can look at the difference among the Houses with less rage and disdain, and they can work together to make things better. You are right, we don't become better people automatically, but sometimes a crash with someone different is like a lightning, this crash makes you see something in a different light, it opens you a new road you hadn't noticed." She halted abruptly, was she really speaking about the prefect? Or about herself and someone else?  
  
She heard him whisper: "You speak so well, but I never saw you spend your time in cultural trades with the Slytherin girls and boys. Or with the Ravenclaw ones."  
  
Draco went on, louder: "And the theatre lights? The perfection? Your wish to be so smart, has this all nothing to do with your admiration of the prefect charge?"  
  
"I could deny it, but it wouldn't be true. You can act as a true bastard sometimes, but you are honest, at least you were honest to me during these Saturdays. There is no use lying to you," she looked steadily into his face," there is that trigger as well: reaching the best possible result. That's me! And I feel no shame for myself and my grades."  
  
"Oh yes, Miss 125%, this is you." but he was looking at her quizzically.  
  
"Then why did you give up?" no hint of kindness in his voice, so soft hook to grab and feel safe, no implied cuddle, just a verbal slap, given without any rage.  
  
She held her knees even more tightly "You listed my reasons by yourself! Can't you browse them and pick up one on your own? You are witty and smart, cant you choose? What do you want from me? I mean what exactly do you want?"  
  
She looked into his eyes, in hurt: "You know, Malfoy, you apparently talk to me, but in reality, as soon as you can you pull the trigger and shoot at me.  
  
Do you like so much to be harsh?  
  
When your day is over what do you do? You review and savour every nasty word you dropped? Are you so proud of your list of obnoxious remarks? Your life must be a bunch of dragon dung if your only satisfaction relies on this kind of things.  
  
I think it is a good thing you didn't accept the prefect role, you know?  
  
McGonagall was mad when she asked you to accept that charge, and even madder when she felt upset! And I was a very stupid brainless girl to ask you why, I had to have a sigh of relief, instead! Relieved and silent!  
  
I am not here to chat with you, I am here only to use you, yes use the charming silvery-eyed Draco Malfoy. And for a fantasy of mine he was nothing to do with!  
  
And you had the brazenness to talk about "truce between us" and "let's not take it as a Slytherin-Gryffindor affair"!"  
  
He answered her coldly, ". and, asking you that question would not be merciful, of course. Oh Draco Malfoy is so nasty! An individualist ugly Slytherin. How could he dare to ask this to Hermione Granger, to a girl so eager to gift the society her wonderful inner world? Granger the prefect, bossy Granger, perfect Granger. Well maybe sometimes under appreciated Granger, but so terribly cute Granger.  
  
Who is Malfoy, indeed, compared to her? Just a Slytherin cad gunning down her smile. why should she listen to him while he is speaking?  
  
But, to ask you this simple question, should be just, in my opinion. Chiefly if, as far as I can understand, you don't ask your question to yourself, on your own."  
  
They studied each other, but the girl blushed and looked away.  
  
After a while Draco sighed and went nearer Herimone. He sat behind the girl and started to massage her shoulders.  
  
"Forget what I said, cinnamon squirrel, you are right: they are not my business".  
  
Malfoy nodded. "Perhaps McGonagall would understand your reasons to become the perfect prefect, you know? And even the reasons why not." he slowly twirled one of locks around his fingers.  
  
She relaxed and in a lighter tone she said: "I have climbed the staircase to the Astronomy Tower because of her, you know?"  
  
"Are you joking?"  
  
"I wanted something. something wild to remember."  
  
Draco burst out laughing, unable to control himself.  
  
"Stop it Malfoy. for a moment I thought you were a serious person!"  
  
"You should stop it, Granger, please. something wild?"  
  
"Yes, wild. So? Any trouble?" she retorted  
  
"Granger I kissed your lips, your face, your eyes, the delicious line of your jaw, but whenever I tried to move below your chin: nothing!  
  
A kiss on your neck and you stiffened like a Victorian witch, thinking about what mummy might ever say. and all this would be savage wilderness on your opinion?" he shook his head. "You ought to be sorted into HufflePuff House. Or maybe you might be a Ravenclaw. But a Gryffindor? Your sorting was an unforgivable mistake!"  
  
"I never thought that. libertinage was a Gryffindor trait!"  
  
"Libertinage? Oh my! How the hell do you pick up your words? Maybe my grandmother would say libertinage! However, what she would imply could make you squeak.  
  
Probably she would mean a very long row of moans and sighs and piercing screams coming from a lot of different lips."  
  
"Oh, an endless row of conquers, modest Casanova."  
  
"Oh, no, it is not my case. I can't complain of what I had, there are people of my same age who can only dream of moans and groans, at least I have reality! But surely not an endless row. I am a pragmatic wizard, I don't need to boast my life to feel right.  
  
Anyway, my lovely HufflePuff to be, everything happened between both of us is more or less what a couple of thirteen years old children might do. A normal girl would call it nuzzling, cuddling, hugging. But no, the Gryffindor prude has to choose 'libertinage', try to be down-to-earth for once.  
  
Even Dumbledore would roll on the floor if Filch might ever find us together and accused us of 'libertinage'. Oh please Granger, you are priceless! The boy who might ever wish to have with you something more. interesting has to walk you for a long road! Libertinage! I don't envy him at all!" he was strangling with his own laughs.  
  
"You are really a jerk!"  
  
"Ok, ok, I am a jerk, you are a cherub and it is late, let's go back to our Common Rooms, reflecting on our sins!" he was definitely mocking her.  
  
She couldn't help a smile.  
  
Draco was leaning down to kiss her cheek as goodbye, but she swung. Their lips met, unwillingly; nor the boy, nor the girl was waiting for this casual brush.  
  
His lips were suddenly hungry for her smile, and then followed eager her jaw line, just to go back slowly to her mouth  
  
Startled she disclosed lightly her lips to ease the path of his tongue, but his silvery eyes grinned and he only kept teasing at Hermione's lips with his own. She sighed, and rose on her tiptoes; she grazed his lips lightly with her teeth, blushing.  
  
It was true, the boundaries were up to her, at least the boundary about everything physical, but this meant, however, that if she wanted something she had to take it by herself. She heaved a sigh. She felt so clumsy.  
  
This time he kissed Hermione roughly surprising her, his hands cupping her face.  
  
Her fingertips slowly caressed his fingers.  
  
'So odd,' she thought, they could share the same intimacy, being so different, and staying so different one from the other. Two persons apart.  
  
The thought was floating on the surface of her sensations. The feeling of the afternoon, when she had let go of herself into his arms, forgetting everything else, even common sense, was slowly mixing to these new feelings.  
  
She felt his warmth surround her body, while he was hugging her, not holding her tight, just his hands slowly stroking her shoulders.  
  
Hermione stroked his shoulders as well, nested into his arms, her eyes closed.  
  
The position was awkward, he was too tall and she was too short, for a glimpse she wished to go back to the HufflePuff pillows.  
  
He suddenly let go of her. "It is too. late, it is too late, really"  
  
The starry night was evidence about how late it was.  
  
She nodded and took the staircase.  
  
While she was climbing down the steps, she heard him laugh.  
  
She shook her head, but she felt the wish to laugh as well. 


	12. A Gift of a Small Sparkle

Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me!!!!!!  
  
A Four Saturdays Detention  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Fourth Week - Friday afternoon TEMPORARY!!!!!! THE BETAED VERSION WILL COME OUT IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS!  
A gift of a small sparkle  
  
It was Friday afternoon, and Hermione was slowly leading towards the Library: a whole week of classes had just ended.  
  
The parchment rolls were messily poking from her bag, the bag was heavy from the tons of books, and she was deadly tired. She had kept running from a classroom to another all day long, focusing on the lessons, and writing down lines and lines of topics to browse later. Especially, she could not help to think about an Arithmancy quiz.  
  
Professor Vector was introducing new concepts, and she had noticed that most her classmates were gaping at Professor Vector in disbelief, because of her thought provoking sentences. Declan, instead, appeared deeply interested in. Quite amused, still, by these new lessons.  
  
A shame he was in Slytherin. She sighed, shuffling her feet, so many things to do, no wonder she was feeling tired.  
  
However, she wasn't as tired as during her Third year at Hogwarts: Professor McGonagall had given her a Time Turner and she had overused it following any possible class, and sleeping too little at night.  
  
The end had been predictable, well, predictable now, but at that time, it wasn't so predictable to her: she had freaked out, slapping Malfoy and slamming the door of Professor Trelawney's classroom. Metaphorically slamming, of course, because that classroom had no regular door to slam, out of spite.  
  
Luckily she hadn't felt so weary anymore. However she was feeling tired, not that tired, but very tired anyway. All that she wanted was a warm bath. Had the prefects changed the passwords, this year?  
  
She mumbled for a while: last year she had elaborated a method to generate the passwords, both for the Common Rooms and the Prefects' Bathroom. The enchanted parchment had to be still in the Prefects Common Room.  
  
Had they remembered to reset the spell? Or maybe they had simply gone on automatically, picking the new words appearing on the parchment as they checked it, this year first week?  
  
Well, probably they had reset the spell for the four Common Rooms, only the Head Boy and Head Girl knew them all for security reasons, but the common parts? The Prefects' Bathroom?  
  
Of course, if she had been in charge, she would have not forgotten to reset everything at the beginning of the academic year, but the current prefects?  
  
In case, she could reassemble the spell and find the current password. She had all her drafts in her trunk bottom.  
  
She wished no one among them was as punctilious as she was: she was longing for a luxurious bath with the warm water, the fabulous fragrances and the bubbling bubbles; altogether, morally she was still a prefect, who could blame her for one single Friday evening washing?  
  
Somehow, and she had a sudden smile, it was a security test, not only a stupid wish, she had to check Hogwarts security. She couldn't help a giggle. She was reasoning like a devious Slytherin.  
  
Draco emerged in front of her abruptly.  
  
She was so shrouded into her dreams, she didn't concisely notice him coming towards her direction.  
  
He didn't talk to her, just made her a discreet sign to follow him. Hence, she trotted, irked, after him through the dark corridors, trying to keep his pace. She didn't like at all his intrusion in her everyday life.  
  
They left behind the noise of the other students, and walked into an empty classroom.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked dryly, after she sat at a desk. She was too tired to stand, trying to look into his eyes, all useless crap, anyway, he was taller than she was.  
  
"I know today it's not Saturday," he teased her, "but I couldn't wait for tomorrow to come: you would have wasted my Saturday afternoon with you ruffled suspicious!"  
  
He handed her a parcel barely wrapped into scrubby gift paper. The girl's hands were cupping her chin, the elbows on the desk; she made no move to take the strange packet into her hands.  
  
After he met her glance, the boy added, "I didn't want it to look like a present, who knows what the hell you would have thought! That's the reason why you have no nice glittering bow on it. And, just to make everything clear and settled down between the two of us, it's a second hand thing."  
  
He put it on the desk in front of her, and made a couple of steps back, eventually leaning against the rocky wall.  
  
Hermione slowly unwrapped the box and looked carefully at the thing: it looked old and slightly damaged, surely second hand stuff, but somehow beautiful stuff.  
  
It was a box with a lot of lateral sides, everyone looking like a tiny door with a little knob, and some funny figures engraved. And the inner face of the doors looked like a tiny mirror. What could it be?  
  
Hermione shot an inquiring glance to Malfoy.  
  
He grinned amused, "It's a Parva Favilla, and I don't think you ever saw one in your entire life."  
  
Hermione nodded defiant.  
  
"Actually it's a very ordinary object, it's something you give to kids, usually, but probably this is the reason why you don't know it. It's too common to be talked about in a Wizardry book."  
  
"How did you know it?"  
  
"I knew what? That you never saw a Parva Favilla before? Because of what you told me last Saturday, that your eyes sting late at night, when you stay awake reading with a candle."  
  
Hermione looked at him, surprised; then that's what Malfoy could remember among everything they talked about on Saturday; did he remember the individualism, the benefits of the boarding school? Or her words about prefects spending more time together? Oh no, all what he was able to remember was her whining about the lack of electricity?  
  
Tired, she asked politely, "How does it work?"  
  
Draco went nearer the girl and took the Parva Favilla into his hands. His fingers were delicate showing her the tiny little doors mechanisms.  
  
"You have to insert the candle here, in the middle, and then you lift the little cover on the top, the central one, this way the candle will burn easily. Then you have to open the door, or the doors, in order to direct the light where you need it.  
  
It works a bit like Muggle lasers: the mirrors are reflecting the waves in order to have a constructive interference."  
  
Hermione cut in suspicious: "Lasers give coherent light, besides they use an energy source to excite the medium inside, that's not burning, just emitting photons; a simple material, generally placed in the middle. Nothing can be destroyed and nothing can be created regarding its energy."  
  
"Well, Granger," answered the patiently, "it isn't a laser, but its behaviour roughly looks like it. Anyway what you'll get it isn't white light, but neither a monochromatic one, you cannot expect from a wizard artefact the same efficiency as a Muggle technological product. Wizards are more like artisans, I thought you had learned it, by now. However there is a second energy source" and he halted slightly embarrassed  
  
"And it would be?"  
  
"The breath of the people near the Parva Favilla."  
  
Hermione bounced back and looked at Draco in horror.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes "I could bet one thousand galleons on your reaction."  
  
"How could it be otherwise?"  
  
"Granger, please, this stuff is meant for kids. Some kids use a Parva Favilla because they like to stay awake till late reading their books, and others are just afraid of darkness.  
  
No kid ever died suffocated because of this kind of objects!  
  
When your eyes are closing and you are slipping into dreamland, slowly, your breath is slower and less powerful: this way the light is dimmer and dimmer. When the emitted light is sensibly low, the top cover slowly comes down. Look here, at the base of the cover, the base is made of glass. It's transparent, hence you can check inside, but the chamber is closed: this way the flame dies because of the lack of oxygen.  
  
It was built this way on purpose, out of security: the flame fades away and no accident might ever happen because of a candle left lit up, near a bed with a sleeping kid. This stuff doesn't steal your breath, simply uses it."  
  
However Hermione wasn't convinced at all "What kind of kids? I mean what kind of parents give their kids a, how do you call it? a Parva Favilla?"  
  
"What do you mean, exactly? Maybe you are asking me whether this stuff comes from Knockturn Alley? Because, if this is what you wish to know, you can ask me without tortuous sentences and questions.  
  
I got no problem into telling you I was at Knockturn Alley, by the way. I used to go there with my father, and I feel no shame. However this stuff wasn't bought over there."  
  
Hermione sighed, too tired to retort him.  
  
"Very well, let's speak clearly, what kind of stuff is this? May I change my question? Would Mrs Molly Weasley give it to Ginny, her only daughter?"  
  
"I think she would!" the boy answered with no hesitation.  
  
Hermione blushed, but she wasn't feeling safe at all. In her humble opinion Molly Wesley was a caring mother, even too protective with her seven puppies, but how did Malfoy look at her? Maybe for him she was just a dumb woman, reading Witch Weekly, ready to believe whatever so-called journalists like Rita Skeeter would have liked to write.  
  
She remembered how Mrs Weasley had believed the gossips about her, Rita Skeeter had wrote on the Daily Prophet that she was Harry's girlfriend, and that she had broken his heart dumping the famous Boy Who Lived with Victor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion of the TriWizard Tournament. And, to add a cruel joke to the damage, that beetle in disguise had implied she was using love potions to seduce the Bulgarian hero, as if a boy like Krum could never find her interesting because of herself.  
  
All lies for the people who knew her, even for those who knew her superficially, yet Mrs Weasley had believed that dragon dung. She remembered very well the glance she had shot her in the Infirmary, while they all were visiting Harry after the tragedy of the Third Task.  
  
Maybe Malfoy thought she was an ingenuous mother, a gullible witch unable to spot a dark artefact? Had she to ask her question, again, differently?  
  
Draco grinned, amused; "I had imagined your reactions, that's the reason why I gave you the Parva Favilla today. Tomorrow you would have felt suspicious and nervous, thinking all Saturday afternoon long, whether I gifted you a trap, a Dark Arts sinister artefact. I don't think we would have had an entertaining Saturday together.  
  
And, seen tomorrow it's our last Saturday together," and he outlined the word "last," "I didn't wish at all to spend it with a defiant Mudblood. Under normal circumstances it takes you an awful amount of time to relax yourself, I don't want to imagine what would ever happen if you'd feel in life danger."  
  
Hermione looked steadily into his eyes; "Do you mind if I ask someone else to inspect it?"  
  
"Of course you can have it checked. I will not feel offended, in case. I've had some hints of your implied trust towards my humble person. No wonder seen our paste experience during the first years.  
  
It would be laughable if I'd thought otherwise.  
  
You can tell you got this stuff from me, as well, I got no troubles about it."  
  
Hermione looked away, she felt a bit embarrassed. Suddenly she noticed the engraving on the top of the cover: "Nisi te plus oculis amarem".  
  
"Why this engraving? "She asked suddenly curious.  
  
"It says 'nisi te plus oculis meis amarem', " Draco looked at her, "It's Latin, do you know what it means?"  
  
Hermione nodded, "I've been studying it on my own, in my spare time."  
  
"Well, in this case you just have to translate it."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. " If I wouldn't love you more than my eyes"  
  
"Do you know who wrote these words?"  
  
Hermione knitted her eyebrows, "No, I don't. I'm sorry. I'd say a poet writing love poems, but I can't figure out his name."  
  
"Catullus, who wrote love poems, too. It's Poem XIV, to be utterly precise.  
  
However this poem wasn't written for his woman, it was written for a man, Gaius Licinius Calvus, a friend of his. It's a joking answer for a gift he gave him for the Saturnalia."  
  
Hermione interested cut in, "I know what Saturnalia are! They were an ancient Rome feast, where people used to exchange each other presents."  
  
"Yes, you are right Granger, but it wasn't exactly like Christmas time."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well Saturnalia were more like Carnival: all social differences used to disappear, slaves and masters were mixing together, enjoying the feast. The mutual roles were even inverted: nothing was respected anymore, and you could tell things that, in a different moment the other one would have not accepted.  
  
During Saturnalia courts and schools were closed: it was forbidden to start or to do wars, to condemn someone to death, or to do a capital punishment. There was no room for old antics, rage, hates, or embarrass. It was a joyful feast, and, somehow, how would you say? A licentious libertine celebration."  
  
Hermione slowly reddened, an analogy was building into her mind, their Saturdays looked a bit like their own private Saturnalia, but Malfoy, probably wasn't aware of this parallelism.  
  
"Well, " Draco went on, "I thought we could feast a private Saturnalia, too. Somehow we are already feasting, by the way. Well, I'd have to complain about the licentious part, " he was definitely mocking her, "However, during emperor Caligula's reign, Saturnalia lasted about 4 days, and we have chosen a four Saturdays truce.  
  
Actually the real date for this feast would be about the half of December, more or less for the Yule Ball, but by the time the Yule Ball comes, many things are meant to change," the boy was a bit embarrassed, "there's another feast, before, anyway, and who knows what might ever happen."  
  
His voice appeared thoughtful, and Hermione couldn't help to feel startled. What feast was he talking about? He had talked about a Slytherin party last week as well, but she didn't know about any particular feast approaching.  
  
"Yule Ball?" she added just to fill the silence, "It would mean winter solstice."  
  
Draco smiled "Yes, the real beginning of the New Year. Rural societies always used to follow nature rhythm."  
  
"What do you know of rural societies, peasants and countryside?"  
  
The boy sneered "Where do you think Malfoy Manor is located? In the centre of London?"  
  
"But there is a second reason. A story behind those verses," the boy added. "Once upon a time these ancient poems were written on parchments. They came to modern world, through Middle Ages, thanks to the monks. They spent their time, in the cloisters, copying the books they loved or they thought they were important. They didn't want humanity to forget the past and they spent their time making copies and copies of the most important or beautiful books. They could be very critical about what they copied, discussing the authors, the contents, the implied life philosophy, giving life to robust debates between the main thinkers of those ages, however they censored nothing, no matter how blatantly pagan and humanistic, even licentious the ancient text could be. The criterion for selection was quality.  
  
They spent all day sitting in a scriptorium, partly studying, and partly copying by hand: you had no typographies at that time. No press.  
  
The only way to have a copy of a book was to copy it by hand, word after word, on your own.  
  
For more than a thousand year, copying texts in a scriptorium was monks' main task. By day, of course: they couldn't use lamps or candles in the scriptoria because everything in those rooms was flammable."  
  
Hermione smiled, "Yes, I know, I read about old parchments with notes on the border of the page, written by the tired monk, complaining for the cold freezing his fingers."  
  
Draco smiled in response, "You are right! I've always loved the marginalia, the texts, and the funny drawings!  
  
Anyway monks had their troubles: at those time there wasn't cloth paper, but parchments, that's made from animals skin, sheep, calf, of goats. It was an expensive process. When the monk had no parchment anymore, he simply reused old parchments: he only had to scrape the ancient writings, with a pumice stone or a sharp knife, and write down the new books. He had to choose what to preserve.  
  
For this reason we didn't have all the books coming to us intact. Sometimes the studious had to recover the texts, trying to read the semierased first text under the second one, trying to guess the underlying words, and comparing the different parchments from different cloisters, because, you know, differences are always creeping in."  
  
"A very difficult work."  
  
"You are right, a patient work, you could make it only for love.  
  
A man lost his sight, for this reason: he was able to rebuild the verses of the poet he loved the most, and could edit a translation of them into his own language, but for this work, done till late, in the dark, he went blind. On the first page of his book edition, hence, he put a quotation, these verses by Catullus "nisi te plus oculis meis amarem", hadn't I loved you more than my eyes."  
  
Hermione was deeply interested: "Like Borges."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"A poet from Argentina, he wrote the Elogio de la sombra: you know, he had at the same time two gifts, the darkness and the books, when they finally gave him the charge of librarian of Buenos Aires most important library he was blind."  
  
Her explanation was too hasty, she was aware, but Draco nodded in agreement; Hermione felt relieved, well Malfoy was many things, but decidedly not a dumb boy.  
  
"Granger, I don't know if you noticed it concisely, but in this world you can make an arm bones grow up again during a single night. But professor Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of our days, must use glasses. And no one offered to do anything for Potty baby's glasses, and he is the living legend."  
  
Hermione nodded. "I know, there's nothing you can do for eyesight."  
  
"Hence, Granger, I hope you agree with me, that you can love your books as much as you like it, but it's stupid to sacrifice something so important for them, don't you agree?"  
  
Hermione blushed, feeling clumsy, but Malfoy was right, nothing good could come in the long run, by reading till late at the light of a dim candle.  
  
"You don't need to thank me: if you had whimpered about your tired eyes with your friends, I'm sure they would have told you what to do. Well, I am not sure about the Hero: he is a stranger in this world, quite as much as you are. But the Tagalong surely, he would have suggested you to use a Parva Favilla.  
  
Even Parvati would have advised you to use one, but you had to ask her straight, because she doesn't like reading at all. she would have never thought that your eyes could smart, she is mostly interested into other things."  
  
Hermione shot him an unreadable glance; the boy was using a light tone, maybe too light, or was it just her imagination? How long had Malfoy and Parvati been dating?  
  
Now her roommate didn't use to talk about him anymore. However all that she knew about their affair, she knew it because of Lavender 's and Parvati's late night gossips leaking through their curtains to her bed.  
  
They never stopped talking about boys, and it was impossible not to listen to them, even unwilling at all.  
  
Yet she had never heard anyone else speaking about Malfoy and Patil as a couple, neither she had ever met them strolling in the school corridors as two dating people, like, she blushed annoyed, Ron and Hannah, for instance.  
  
"Why?" she asked abruptly  
  
"Why not?" he shrugged, "Last Saturday you gifted me something too. I thought we could be even this way."  
  
Then he handed her back the Parva Favilla, this time directly into her hands; "I must go now. If you don't want it, please, make me know: I'd prefer to take it back, instead of thinking it thrown into some Gryffindor garbage bin."  
  
She nodded slowly, looking attentively at the little object. She was so taken she didn't notice him exiting the room.  
  
A thousand thoughts were crowding her mind: she wished so much to try the magical stuff, but she didn't trust Malfoy. First she would ask Parvati or, maybe Ron. Thinking oh her so-called best friend, she felt suddenly embarrassed.  
  
Well maybe Parvati and Ron could only tell her whether a Parva Favilla was really such a common object, but nothing more: Ron wasn't exactly the best wizard regarding Dark Arts. If she examined detached the whole Tom Riddle Cursed Diary Affair she could only admit to herself that Ron, who probably had seen that diary among her sister's belongings, hadn't been able to understand it was cursed.  
  
The most sensible thing was to ask a teacher.  
  
Well, it was the most sensible thing, of course, but what if this was exactly Draco Malfoy was after? Hitting the Headmaster through a Mudblood?  
  
In this case, for prudence, the teacher to ask to was Professor McGonagall.  
  
She felt her stomach jump: she hadn't spoken with the Transfiguration teacher since the day she had refused the prefect charge, how could she ever ask her a favour about a supposedly cursed baby lamp?  
  
Well, if she didn't wish to meet her favourite teacher, she could ask Professor Sprout, or Professor Flitwick, or even Snape. Oh no, she could never bear to ask the elitist old bat, she would have rather preferred to ask Professor Trelawney, weren't predictions her own territory? She'd just have to look into her orb, Hermione thought sarcastically.  
  
Somehow she felt absurd: she was allowed to say who gave her the Parva Favilla, if anything bad would have ensued, Malfoy would be easily spotted as the culprit. Probably she was worrying for nothing.  
  
However, in the midst of all these thoughts, a thought stab her, making her feel guilty: she remembered her words to Malfoy about personal responsibility and responsibility towards ourselves.  
  
Tilting her chin she resolved to go to the HeadMistress: she could not run away from Professor McGonagall all life long.  
  
Hermione took back her parchments, her bag and the Parva Favilla, then, tired, leaded towards McGonagall's quarters.  
  
However, later, she had decided it, she would finally take that luxurious bath she was longing for: she had gained the right to spoil herself a bit! 


	13. I am fed up

Ok, maybe I finally found a beta or even two.  
  
I am rewriting everything from chapter #1. Everytime I upload an old chapter rewritten, I will list the chapters number at the bottom of this text.  
  
If you want to be e-mailed everytime I upload, e-mail me and I'll take note of your e-mail address!  
  
If this turns out as the usual "lost battle" between my hectic life (I have my share of faults) and beta's hectic life, and within a month I am again without a beta, I am sorry, but I will simply post the rest of the story in my own language: Italian.  
  
I am not looking for betas! If my current beta(s) will trun me down, I'll make a nother post asking for help, but my deadline is a month to have at least chapters till 7 fixed and chapter 13 on line (more or less, even as a temporary new chapter).  
  
I thank all the reviewers, but I am fed up of betas, dictionaries, grammar, e-mails, boards, and so on :P  
  
  
  
Have a nice summer! 


	14. 2 palle così, per cui va in italiano ed ...

Il capitolo 13 non esiste ben fatto in italiano, ma esiste, questo è l'unico capitolo mal fatto e che sto riscrivendo, tutto il resto della storia c'è, e secondo me è carino anche in italiano.

In inglese, traducendo, sono costretta a ribetarmi da sola, per cui, in genere, in questa tremenda seconda lingua che io ho imparato solo a scuola,  è sempre un pochino meglio, anche  se per un inglese deve essere schifosamente mal scritto.

Come promesso, posterò le idee base, che, purtroppo, saranno lette solo da al massimo 4 persone!!!! Le uniche italiane a leggerla: lilith witch, forse, Kagome, molto forse (è occupata con una fic complicata ed una complicatissima, oh, andatele a leggere!), francesca che non so chi sia, ma la ringrazio… insomma siete state molto carine con me: un abbraccio virtuale di cuore.

Mi piacerebbe conoscervi meglio, sarò sincera. 

Io in questa storiella ci credevo parecchio, era la mia piccolina e il fatto che a pochissimi sia piaciuta mi ha sempre lasciato un po' triste, specialmente se considero il tempo speso a far traduzioni…

Ma bando alle ciance e alle lacrime di disperazione (non poi così copiose, grazie al cielo) ed eccovi la bozza del capitolo 13.

Sul titolo sono incerta: Da una piccola scintilla un grande incendio? L'originale del detto in latino? Parliamone?

L'unica cosa su cui ero certa era il sottotilo: The sound of silence, si, come la canzone di Simon & Garfunkel… che dire? mi piaceva. E poi, basta parlare e parlare… c'è anche il piacere del silenzio e di ascoltare.

Allora the sound of silente sia!

Le idee di base erano queste:

Hermione va dalla Professoressa McGonagall (descrizione del buco in cui la povera donna è costretta a vivere) dalla Professoressa McGonagall c'è anche la Professoressa Sprout (musicista, tra l'altro, e scopriremo che c'è un'altra musicista nella scuola, ma questo è di secondaria importanza: era per il sequel!). Le comunicano che la sua posizione di prefetto è ancora aperta e, che, siccome ha sempre avuto dei voti troppo alti, forse vorrebbero darle un incarico particolare, in modo da dare anche ad un'altra ragazza del suo corso una chance. Insomma, tutti ci chiediamo come mai Hermione sia finita in Grifondoro, e anche qualche ragazza della sua casa se lo chiede, dicendo pure "che cu..o!" Hermione chiede che la Parva Favilla venga esaminata, le due donne sorridono, una le chiede se pensa che gliela ha donata sia un po' imbranato e non sappia riconoscere un artefatto delle Arti Oscure, l'altra chiede, invece, se per caso Hermione non si fida  del donatore. Hermione tace e arrossisce. Prima di uscire le chiedono se c'è qualcos'altro di cui vorrebbe parlare ed Hermione fa una richiesta: è brava ad incantare rotoli di pergamena (e lo sappiamo anche dal 5° libro, siamo nel canone, su poche cose, lo so, ma lasciatemi gioire)  e vorrebbe tanto creare un board nelle cucine… un che? bhe una semplice bacheca per gli Elfi, per lasciarsi messaggi, le solite cose, cerco, ho trovato, ho smarrito, ci vediamo alle ore tot, Dobby ama Winky e così via… La McGonagall le chiede, molto severamente, se tutto questo ha a che fare con lo SPEW, ma Hermione risponde  che effettivamente non lo sa, forse si, forse no. Cosa vuole allora? Beh, risponde lei, semplicemente, per una volta "ascoltare", sentire le ragioni di qualcuno così diverso da lei e magari cercare di capire che cosa diavolo vuole, che senso ha la vita per lui. O lei. Anche se lei non lo condivide. La Sprout sogghigna e dice alla McGonagall "beh, la ragazzina sta crescendo…" La McGonagall accetta, parlerà lei con il preside, ma vuole una cosa in cambio, una cosa che se non verrà ben fatta, e a regola d'arte, senza imbrogli, senza menzogne e senza tralasciare cose rilevanti, non farà mai realizzare la bacheca degli Elfi Domestici. Che compito? Un semplice saggio. Hermione accetta (che sarà mai un saggio per lei?), prende la pergamena incantata dalla McGonagall e dà la sua parola che farà il saggio assegnatole nel migliore dei modi. A quel punto la McGonagall appone il titolo:"Vantaggi e svantaggi della carica di prefetto". Mia cara signorina ad un insegnante a volte piace imprimere qualcosa nella testolina di un proprio allievo, ma ci sono volte in cui ad un insegnante piace proprio quello che piacerebbe tanto a lei… ascoltare e capire. Anche se non si condivide. Hermione si arrabbia ma tace, esce e per tutto il corridoio sogna una sola cosa: di avere tra le mani Malfoy e fargli di tutto, ma proprio di tutto (no, niente roba porno, solo pura violenza fisica). Se ne va nel bagno dei prefetti (si, è talmente furiosa che fa una cosa che non dovrebbe: ricava la parola d'ordine e va a sguazzare nella vasca anche se non è un prefetto) Sguazza tra le bolle profumate, si immerge, agita il piedino fuori dall'acqua, insomma tutto quello che di solito facciamo nella vasca da bagno, legge un libro abbandonato nel bagno, sbircia una foto di Pansy che suona il violino e, nel frattempo, borbotta molto poco decentemente. Dopo che si è sfogata, realizza che Malfoy in fondo non l'ha costretta a fare un bel nulla: la Parva Favilla la poteva rifiutare, e buona notte. O poteva chiedere a Parvati e  tentare un dialogo tra donne. O chiedere a Ron e portarselo a Hogsmeade a cercarne una nuova, tutta sua, ridando a Draco quella "vecchia". È stata lei a volersi tenere qualcosa dello Slytherin per tutto l'anno Mentre è alla fine a letto guarda la pergamena della McGonagall e le viene da sorridere: Draco in fondo le ha fatto non un regalo, ma due (che sapesse che era il suo compleanno il giovedì? ho controllato le date a posteriori e casualmente tornerebbe, pensa te i casi della vita!) uno pratico e uno… una semplice possibilità.   
Beh, quella mattina le era sembrata che il ragazzo non la avesse ascoltata, ma non era così. Malfoy l'aveva ascoltata molto bene il sabato precedente. Forse anche troppo 

Gli altri capitolo sono ok, nel senso che non sono bozze, al limite mancano di titolo.

Con la beta sono al capitolo 1 e parte del 2, vedremo come andrà questa estate, forse cambierò qualcosa per renderla più aderente al 5° libro di JKR, non so, francamente ne ho due p…e così!

Ho postato su qualche board: se qualcuno se la vuole tradurre, la collaborazione è sempre bene accetta.

Il prossimo capitolo non ha titolo, ma comincia di sabato pomeriggio, Hermione stavolta è in ritardo, ma qualcuno la aspetta in biblioteca, e… basta con la torre di astronomia! Stavolta ce ne andiamo in riva al lago… forse Draco tenterà di affogare hermione? Vedremo…


End file.
